


The Victory of Shadows

by scribblemoose



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is an ordinary young man with extraordinary magic, who is just finishing his first year reading ancient history at Cambridge when he gets dragged away from his books and falls for the Captain of a rowing team. But history can be full of surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Paperlegends challenge. With many, many thanks to Kis, Muppet and Ste, and of course to the wonderful Kironomi who produced the beautiful illustrations. [Visit her at deviant art](http://kironomi.deviantart.com/), and tell her how much you like them!

The first time Merlin saw Arthur was in the summer of his first year at Cambridge. It was an idyllic English afternoon in May, and Gwaine had insisted they go to the regatta. Merlin was keen to experience everything Cambridge had to offer, but he found some things - especially things that tended towards the expensive and were laden with ridiculous tradition - difficult to justify when he had a stack of work to do.

"I know that face," said Gwaine, forcing another four-pack of beer into his already full rucksack. "Look, I don't like this elitist crap any more than you do, but you've got to admit, it's a great excuse to catch some sun and get wasted."

"I've got exams," Merlin argued, feebly.

"Yeah, yeah, haven't we all. But you can't work all the time, Merlin. You need to unwind a bit, get some fresh air, kick start your brain cells." Gwaine ruffled Merlin's hair.

"My brain cells are fine," said Merlin, running his fingers vaguely through the curls around his right ear.

"No they're not. They're starved of fun. They're shrivelling up as we speak. Come on, I'm not taking no for an answer. Just think of all the pretty people. Ever shagged a rower?"

Merlin, who hadn't shagged anyone at all since Fresher's Week more than six months previously, narrowed his eyes at Gwaine and pointedly slammed his book shut.

"They have muscles in some very strange and unusual places," said Gwaine, and had the nerve to wink. "Come _on_ , Merlin. The sun's shining, the sky's blue, we're young, free and single. What have you got to lose?"

"My principles," muttered Merlin, darkly.

But he went with Gwaine anyway.

*

Before he went up to Cambridge, Merlin had had some very long conversations with a dragon.

He couldn't remember a time when Kilgharrah wasn't there. When he was very small, the dragon would come to him in dreams, in the shape of the smoke of a bonfire or a summer cloud. One day, when Merlin was about eleven, he went to explore the caves on the beach near his home, and wasn't surprised to find a dragon sitting there. He asked Kilgharrah once why no-one else seemed to know the dragon lived in the cave: after all, it was wide open and the beach was hardly private. Kilgharrah told Merlin that people tended to see what they expected to see, and that really didn't include dragons any more. Merlin remained unconvinced, and when he found out a few months later that dragons had magic too, he realised that Kilgharrah hid in the cave on purpose.

What young boy wouldn't like a secret magical dragon as his best friend? He would visit the cave frequently, and sometimes when he was lying in bed, Kilgharrah would talk to him in his head, and if it made Merlin a bit of a strange child sometimes, it didn't really hold him back. Having magic made him strange anyway, enough so that other children were wary of him and his mother worried a lot. It was okay, though. Merlin found that people seemed to like him regardless: he was kind and loyal, and reckless enough to appeal to the bigger boys who might otherwise have bullied him. He knew better than to tell anyone about Kilgharrah, even his parents, although he thought perhaps his father knew, from the looks he gave him when he announced he was going to the beach.

So Kilgharrah watched over Merlin, listened to his anguish about school and his first, fumbling steps into romance; even his joy over finally being able to grow a few scratchy bits of hair on his chin (which, to Kilgharrah's confusion, he was ridiculously proud to shave off) and, that last summer on the hot Welsh sands, Kilgharrah heard all about Cambridge.

Kilgharrah was very excited and proud. He told Merlin about his destiny to save the world at the side of the Once and Future King, and how Cambridge was part of this destiny, and Merlin thought the bloody dragon was totally off his rocker. He didn't say anything, though. He didn't want to leave on bad terms; he was rather sad he couldn't take the dragon to Cambridge with him. Kilgharrah had a bit of a thing about old places, and he really loved tradition. He'd have fitted right in, apart from being, well, a dragon.

But Kilgharrah said he had to stay in his cave, and Merlin had to go and get a degree (and possibly find his destiny, although the jury was out on that one as far as Merlin was concerned) and that was that.

Merlin missed him terribly.

 

**Cave by Kironomi**

*

Gwaine squinted into the sun, casting about for a spare bit of grass for them to sit on and finally announced, "There!"

"Where?" asked Merlin, grumpily.

"Between the blonde twins and the scary raven-haired beauty you had a crush on last term."

"Oh," said Merlin. "Morgana."

"Difficult?"

"No, of course not," said Merlin, briskly, and strode over to the spot Gwaine had pointed at, Gwaine loping along behind him. The grassy bank was full of picnickers and they were lucky to get space enough to sprawl out within sight of the river. There was a lot of activity down there: rowers doing stretches and moving boats about, someone making horrible noises with a loudspeaker. There were stalls selling champagne and strawberries with cream, and a group of guys juggling clubs.

"Hello, Merlin," came the slow drawl of Morgana's voice. "I didn't think you liked these things."

"I was coerced," Merlin said, pulling his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around his legs. "How've you been doing?"

Morgana smiled; her cheeks dimpled, her eyes sparkled and Merlin could do nothing but smile helplessly back. "I'm fine, thank you," she said.

"I didn't think you liked this kind of thing either?" said Merlin.

She wrinkled her nose. "Family obligations. My brother's rowing for Fitzpatrick."

"Ah, obligations. Same for me. Gwaine's trying to get laid."

A punch landed not-too-softly on Merlin's arm. "Hey!" Gwaine complained. "I get your pasty arse out in the sunshine for once and this is the thanks I get?"

Morgana laughed. Merlin thumped Gwaine back, but Gwaine had muscles like iron, and barely noticed.

Morgana's phone rang: a heavy beat of drum and bass that seemed out of place in the summer afternoon. She gave them an apologetic little smile and picked it up; she said a warm hello and in a swift, graceful movement got up and drifted away out of earshot.

"She looks great," said Gwaine.

"Yeah," said Merlin with a little smile. "She does."

"You going to ask her out?"

"Er, _no_."

"Why? She's beautiful, she likes you…."

"Not in that way. We're friends, that's all. Well, barely that, now, really."

"Ah, Merlin, this is your problem, you see. You never take risks."

"No, but she did." Merlin's eyes drifted back to Morgana, still talking on her phone, the sun casting soft shadows on her cotton dress. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "She was practising magic."

"Magic?"

"Yes. When I first met her, she was about to get sent down for practising dark rites."

Gwaine gave a low whistle. "Not just doing magic without a licence, but doing forbidden magic as well? She doesn't do things by halves, does she?"

"Exactly. I can't blame her, really, she fell in with a bad crowd. She's kind of easily led."

"And you knew?"

"I helped her to stop." Merlin hesitated, remembering the long, dark nights when he'd held Morgana's hand, soothed her, kept talking while she shivered in fear. How he'd battled the dark magic that surrounded her. How he'd protected her. Persuaded her, bit by bit, to wait until she was old enough to get a licence and study magic, proper magic, white magic, legally. Showed her how to control her power in the meantime; because although she wasn't so very powerful, not nearly as powerful as Merlin himself, hers was a restless, erratic sort of magic, firing at random and anxious for escape. It was very intimate, touching someone else's magic that way, and it didn't feel right talking about it. The only way he could really sum it up to Gwaine was, "It wasn't easy. No-one had ever really tried to help her before. But she was very brave."

"I heard her stepfather is a bit of a tyrant."

"He doesn't approve of magic, I know that."

Gwaine pulled a face. He didn't have magic himself, but he had a rebellious streak a mile wide, and he was no fan of rich executives either.

"Yeah," said Merlin. "I feel sorry for Morgana."

"But you don't fancy her?"

"Not really. Why?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind having a shot myself. But I'm a good friend, Merlin, and you did see her first."

"How very chivalrous of you," said Merlin, with a grin.

"Of course. So, do you mind?"

"Not at all," said Merlin. "I should warn you, though, I've never seen Morgana with a man, except those guys she did magic with, and I don't think there was anything romantic about that. And when she was recovering she got to be good friends with Gwen, and they've been close ever since. _Very_ close." Merlin waggled his eyebrows meaningfully.

Gwaine's face fell. "Oh, I see. Well, that's a shame."

"Sorry Gwaine. But you can tell she's taken. Look at her."

Morgana was giggling at whoever was on the other end of the phone, twirling a strand of hair around one finger. She looked completely absorbed and carefree.

"She's not talking to her father, that's for sure," said Gwaine, wryly.

Merlin patted him on the knee. "Don't worry. Plenty more fish in the sea."

"You're right," said Gwaine. "And I am an expert fisherman."

"The best," said Merlin.

"Where is Gwen these days, anyway?" Gwaine said, scanning the sunny riverbank with one hand shielding his eyes. "I haven't seen her for ages."

"She's been studying. You know, like me? The whole exam thing?"

"Well, she's having a day off today, mate. Look, down there."

Merlin followed the direction of Gwaine's pointing finger, glancing quickly across the grass, through the scattered groups of students, down towards the riverside, and there was Gwen. She wore a pretty summer dress, her dark hair tumbling down her back, decorated here and there with flowers. She was talking to the most handsome, golden-haired, gorgeous man Merlin had ever seen.

Merlin cleared his throat, but his voice still came out croaky and thick. "Who's, um, that guy she's with?"

The sun glanced off the water, mid-day bright and dazzling. It made the man's hair shine as he threw his head back to laugh at something Gwen had said.

"I dunno. Some rower. I think he's a captain. Why don't you ask Gwen to introduce you?"

"No! No, it's nothing like that. I was just curious, that's all." Merlin attempted a nonchalant shrug and dropped his gaze determinedly to the grass, plucking a handful and sifting it through his fingers. "Trying to get into the swing of things, after you dragged me here and everything."

Gwaine gave him a good-natured shove on the shoulder, and might have been about to say something else, but they were both distracted by a flurry of movement next to them. Morgana was shoving things into her bag: book, laptop, scarf-thing.

"Merlin, could you give a message to Gwen for me? Just tell her something came up, and I have to go. I'll make it up to her. Please?"

"Okay," said Merlin. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," said Morgana, with a bright smile. "Absolutely fine. Just a bit of a headache, you know? I think it's the sun and the Pimms, too many late nights. Tell her to have a good time, will you?"

"We'll look after her," said Gwaine.

"Don't worry," added Merlin. "Hope you feel better soon."

"Not Gwen on the phone then," Gwaine murmured as Morgana drifted off across the grass.

Gwen joined them a few minutes later. She looked so disappointed at Morgana's disappearance that Merlin couldn't help but give her a massive hug. Gwaine joined in, which made her laugh. The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of sunshine and cheap red wine; Merlin was determined that Gwen should have a good time, Morgana or no Morgana, and it was a mission Gwaine seemed more than happy to help with.

And if every now and then, Merlin snuck a glance down towards the clubhouse between races to catch a glimpse of Gwen's handsome friend, he was sure no-one noticed.

*

Gwaine somehow wangled an invite to a party thrown by one of the teams - Merlin didn't catch which one, and didn't much care, as an afternoon watching boats charge up and down the river hadn't ignited in him so much as a spark of interest in rowing. What did matter was that Gwaine had stolen his room keys and wouldn't let him go home, so he had no choice but to tag along. Gwen came with them, and a couple of other people Merlin recognised as friends of Gwaine's but didn't know very well.

The party was in a marquee on a quad lawn in a college Merlin hadn't been to before. It was a warm evening and people were mostly sitting outside, drinking out of plastic glasses. The air was heavy with the smell of fruit punch and warm beer mixed with fresh cut grass and old, warmed stone. Merlin volunteered to get the first round in, and Gwen went with him to help carry. He was leaning across the temporary bar, ignoring something sticky his arm had landed in, earnestly trying to catch the barman's eye, when Gwen said, "Oh, hello!"

Merlin looked up and found himself looking straight at the man he'd seen talking to Gwen at the riverside.

"Merlin," Gwen said, "This is Arthur. Fitzwilliam Captain."

"Hi," said Merlin, holding out his hand and hoping it wasn't as sticky as his elbow. "Merlin."

Arthur's hand clasped his, Arthur smiled at him, and Merlin had a feeling like a handful of sparklers had gone off in his stomach.

"Nice to meet you, Merlin," said Arthur.

He looked so familiar. Merlin searched Arthur's eyes for a hint that he'd felt something too, but found only a friendly, amused twinkle. Of course, why would there be more than that? They'd only just met.

Hadn't they?

Arthur very gently disentangled his fingers from Merlin's, and offered to buy them both a drink.

"Best not," said Merlin. "I'm getting a round."

"That's okay," said Arthur. "Not a problem."

"No, really, I couldn't-"

But Arthur had already summoned a barman with the raise of an eyebrow, and the next thing Merlin knew there were drinks and a tray, and Gwen was going back to the others, leaving him standing at the bar with Arthur and a glass of something with strawberries and apple floating in it. It even had a straw. Merlin very, very rarely drank things with straws in.

"So," said Merlin, determined to take some control over the conversation, even if he seemed to have very little control over his actual life at the moment. "How do you know Gwen?"

"I'm Morgana's stepbrother," said Arthur.

"Oh. Oh! I know Morgana."

"Well, yes." Arthur gave him an odd sort of look. "You're a good friend of Gwen's, I understand? So it stands to reason…."

"Yes, but, ah, no, I mean it was the other way around. I introduced them, actually. To each other."

"Really? Well, I'm glad you did. Gwen's been such a good influence on Morgana, I've never seen her so happy. Funny, though, Morgana's never mentioned you."

Merlin shrugged and sucked hard at his straw. "I'm not important. She has a lot of friends. How come I haven't seen you around before?"

Arthur blinked, obviously noticing Merlin's conversational handbrake turn, but to Merlin's relief he went along with it. "I've been in Madagascar."

"Madagascar? That's a long way away."

"Yes, it is," said Arthur with a little smile. "My personal tutor has a project out there investigating the preservation of several endangered species. I took a year out to volunteer there to help save a family of Hapalemur aureus malagasy bokombolomena."

"Ah," said Merlin, wishing he knew what halpalemur-whatever-he-said were, exactly. "You're doing biology, then?"

"Yeah, I'm reading Nat Sci, but I really like Ecology best. And you're….?"

"ASNaC."

"Oh."

"Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic."

"It's okay, I know what ASNaC means."

"It's a real subject," said Merlin, a little defensively. He was used to seeing that particular 'that explains everything' expression on peoples' faces when he told them what course he was doing, but he didn't intend to let Arthur get away with it.

"I didn't say it wasn't. I'm sure it's very important."

"Too right it is."

"For…."

"For understanding humanity," said Merlin. "What are hyperlemmings without people, after all?"

That hadn't come out right at all. Merlin looked dubiously at his drink.

"Hapalemur. Bamboo lemurs. Specifically golden ones," said Arthur. "They'd be better off, actually. Less endangered. But I'm sure History's very important too. First year?"

"Yeah. Well, nearly second, obviously, just the exams to go."

"I suppose so. Well, I'm a bit ahead of you, then. I'll be starting my third year in October."

"Excellent!" said Merlin, totally lost now, and for some reason clinked glasses with Arthur.

Arthur gave him an amused look. "You're empty. Want another drink?"

Merlin peered into his glass. That's the thing about straws. Always ended up drinking too fast. "Yes, please, just a beer," and then, "No! Wait, it's my round. It has to be, this time, really. What're you having?"

Arthur considered his glass, which he'd only sipped at, for a second. Then he gave Merlin a wicked sort of look which made Merlin's knees melt. "Bottoms Up!" he said, and downed it in one. He swallowed, hard, fished a strawberry out of his now empty glass and sucked on it.

Merlin smiled a slow, feral smile as he watched Arthur's full lips close on the fruit. He glimpsed Arthur's tongue prodding at it, cheeks hollowing.

"Yeah," said Merlin. "Cheers."

*

"The thing about summer is," said Merlin, "it never really gets dark. In the winter, you go to bed when it's dark. In the summer-" He waved his hands expansively, "-it never gets dark! So what's a person to do? No bedtime!"

"Mate," said Gwaine. "You are so pissed."

Arthur laughed. He wasn't as drunk as Merlin, or even Gwaine, but he was sprawling on his back on the grass with them, staring up at the few bright stars that could be seen through the not-quite-dark sky. He was loose-limbed and relaxed, and Merlin found himself momentarily transfixed by a blade of bright green grass trapped in Arthur's golden hair.

"So what," said Arthur. "You go to bed at three in the afternoon in the winter?"

"Noooo," said Merlin, patiently. "Because there's stuff. To do. But before we had 'lectric light, people did. No choice." He waved his arms again, and his voice came out as a squeak. "Dark!"

"Nonsense," said Arthur. "They had oil lamps. And before that, candles."

"No, no, no, no. Before that. Before that, they didn't. So they went to bed."

"Or told stories around the fire," said Arthur.

Merlin sat bolt upright, considering this revelation as if it were a stroke of genius. "Yes! Yes, they did! Beowulf! And they had those things. In the walls. Torch-thingies."

"Braziers?"

"Yeah. Brassieres," said Merlin, and spluttered into a fit of giggles.

Gwaine rolled over and said to Arthur, "He's not usually like this, you should know. He doesn't get out much, you see. No tolerance."

"Oy!" said Merlin.

"It's all right," said Arthur and then, more softly, close to Merlin's ear. "I rather like it."

Which set Merlin of in another peal of giggles.

"Hey, Arthur!" Someone was crossing the grass towards them with big, loping strides. Merlin craned his neck to see who it was: it turned out to be Leon, one of Arthur's crew-mates on the rowing team. He had impressive arm muscles, a slightly dodgy beard and flowing curls that brushed his shoulders and softened his features. Everyone on Arthur's team was ridiculously good-looking, Merlin had noticed. It was uncanny. Like a sort of sampler-set of different kinds of handsome.

"Now what're you laughing at?" said Arthur, looking down at Merlin as if he was the most inexplicable thing he'd ever seen.

"Stuff," Merlin said.

"We're leaving, Arthur, if you still want to share a cab," Leon said, reaching down to help Arthur up.

Arthur took Leon's hand and rocked smoothly to his feet. "Better had," he said. Merlin thought he caught a catch of regret in Arthur's voice. He rather enjoyed that.

"I expect we'll be here 'til dawn," Merlin said. "Seeing as how it's hardly going to get dark. So, see, no need to sleep!"

"Ha!" said Gwaine. "Is that right, Mr 'Oh no, I've got to study."

Leon was obviously ready to go, but Arthur hesitated, fumbling in his pockets. "Shit. I haven't got anything to write on."

"Write it on your hand," Merlin said. "That's what I do."

'Ah, but that wouldn't be any good," Arthur said. "Because I want to give you my number. So if I wrote that on my hand and gave it to you…."

" 's okay," Merlin said, rather liking the warmth that bloomed in his chest at the thought that Arthur might want to give him his actual number. "I wouldn't mind."

"Here." Arthur grabbed Merlin's hand, and scrawled something across the back of it with a Sharpie.

"There," said Arthur. "Call me sometime. Maybe we could try and talk when we're both sober, see if we make more sense."

"I'm making perfect sense!" Merlin grinned a lopsided grin at Arthur, and squinted at the back of his hand. "Oh no. It's too dark."

"Must be bedtime, then," said Arthur, and waved over his shoulder as he left, with Leon in his wake.

Gwaine got very bossy after that, insisting that Merlin get to his feet so they could go home and start drinking water. Merlin was completely comfortable on the grass, and mostly unable to feel his toes, but eventually Gwaine got him upright, tugged Merlin's arm across his shoulders and they started to weave their way home.

As they emerged onto the street, Merlin saw a familiar figure in the distance, getting out of a small blue convertible of some kind.

"Hey, Gwaine," he said, coming to a halt because walking and talking at the same time were for some reason very tricky at that precise moment. "Over there. 'S Morgana!"

Gwaine peered in the direction Merlin was pointing. "Oh yeah. So it is."

"She must be feeling better," said Merlin. " 's good. Very good."

"Great," said Gwaine. "Come on." So Merlin did, concentrating once more on putting one foot in front of the other.

"Funny, though," he murmured. " 's very late and that wasn't Gwen in the car, was it? Where is Gwen? D'you know, Gwaine?"

"She went home hours ago," said Gwaine. "Don't you remember?"

"Dunno. I've been a bit… distracted. And this might surprise you. But I think I might be a leeeeetle bit drunk."

"Surely not," said Gwaine.

If Merlin hadn't known better, he might have thought Gwaine was being just a little bit sarcastic.

*

The first time Merlin did magic, he nearly burned down the Little Acorns Infant School.

It wasn't his fault. It was the fault of a sales rep who had stopped by with a range of educational toys to sell. Merlin loved to play in the castle. It was a big, grey, plastic affair, with lego horses and a moat and drawbridge that worked. Not a Disney castle, but a gritty, realistic world where Merlin could let his imagination run wild. He was busy defending the realm from a wicked princess when a man he hadn't met before knelt down by the west tower and said, "Hello, young man, what's your name?"

Merlin peered suspiciously at him. "Merlin," he said.

"Ah, I see. Are you playing Camelot?"

"No."

"Is your little friend there Arthur?"

"No," said Merlin. "He's Princess Esmeralda."

"I don't remember a Princess Esmerelda. Who was she?"

"Well." Merlin leaned in and spoke earnestly. "You know it's not real?"

The man chuckled. "Yes, I do know that."

"Right," said Merlin, relieved. "Well, Esmerelda and Constance are twin princesses, only Esmeralda is the good princess, and Constance is the bad princess. She had to go home, because she was sick after the custard, but we're getting the castle ready for a siege when she comes back."

"Oh, I see."

"You can play if you want. We need someone to be in charge of the guards."

"I'm afraid I can't, I have to have a chat with your teacher in a minute. But perhaps you could cast a spell for me before I go? I'd love to see some magic. You are a wizard, aren't you?"

"Of course I am! That's why I'm wearing a dress and a pointy hat!"

Merlin was very fond of the pointy hat. It made him taller, for one thing. And it had stars all over it.

"I thought so."

"I'm the great wizard Alakazam," Merlin said.

"I thought you were Merlin?"

"Well, yes, that's my real name." The man looked more confused than ever, and Merlin was convinced that he must be a bit stupid, really, but it wouldn't be kind to point it out.

"You've never heard of Merlin?"

Merlin shook his head.

"Ah well. Can you do a spell for me, Merlin?"

"All right," said Merlin. He reached out his hand and said, with huge gravity and import, "Burn!"

The small beanbag in front of him burst instantly into flames. There were a few moments of confusion and children screaming, the sudden hiss of an extinguisher.

Merlin stared in horror until the flames were out, foam everywhere and an alarm ringing somewhere. Then he sat down, suddenly on the plastic moat of the plastic castle, and burst into tears.

*

Merlin scrubbed and scrubbed at his hand until the big green numbers faded to nothing. It took a long time, and Gwaine found it hysterically funny that Merlin was so determined to obliterate any evidence of Arthur's existence from his life.

Merlin didn't mention that he'd written Arthur's number down in the back of a notebook before he'd taken so much as a hint of soap to his skin.

Four days after the regatta, Merlin's phone rang. Unknown number.

"Hi?" said Merlin.

"Hello, is that Merlin?"

The back of Merlin's neck tingled. "Yeah. Arthur?"

"Gwen gave me your number. Hope you don't mind."

"'S okay." Merlin was grinning. Couldn't help it. He picked up a paperclip from his desk and started to unbend it, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder.

"So…. I was wondering."

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to get a coffee some time?"

"I might." The paperclip trembled a bit in Merlin's fingers.

"Tomorrow? I've got a lecture at seven, maybe after that?"

"Who has lectures at seven o'clock at night?"

"I'm helping my supervisor. It's an open lecture, about his work in Madagascar."

"Ah. The golden bamboo lemur."

"Yeah. The golden bamboo lemur."

There was a pause, while Merlin tried to think of something clever to say, and failed, before Arthur said, "You fancy it then?"

"Sure, why not," said Merlin. "The Coffee Shop?"

"See you there, about half-eight."

"I'll be there," said Merlin, trying for casual and coming out horribly eager.

"Me too," said Arthur, and hung up. Without saying goodbye, which was probably incredibly cool. Or incredibly rude. Merlin couldn't bring himself to care which.

He spent the next two hours trying to convince himself it wasn't a date.

Or was it?

He wasn't about to go and tell Gwaine that he had a possible-date with Arthur, because he'd never hear the end of it. But if he kept it to himself he'd explode, so he grabbed his sunglasses, phone and keys and set out for Gwen's instead.

Gwen's room was in one of the oldest parts of college, huge but cluttered with ancient, giant radiators and a desk that seemed almost as big as her bed. She loved it, though; there were always fresh flowers around the place and clusters of candles. When Merlin arrived that afternoon she was studying, piles of books stacked neatly in sturdy columns around her laptop; swatches of cloth arranged on the bed behind her. Gwen was hoping to do a PhD in mediaeval textiles when she'd finished her degree. Merlin had never known anyone get so excited about looms or plant dye as she did. She'd given him a handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it for his birthday, only a couple of weeks after they'd first met. He knew immediately it was one of those things he'd treasure forever.

"Merlin! How nice to see you. Would you like some tea?"

"Thanks." Merlin flung himself across Gwen's bed, crossing his arms behind his head. "Sure I'm not interrupting you?"

"Most definitely not," said Gwen, crossing the room to turn on the kettle. "I've been reading that same sentence over and over again for an hour, and I still couldn't tell you what it was."

"I know the feeling."

"Really, Merlin? That's not like you."

"Yeah, well." Merlin shrugged. "It's hot."

Gwen gave him a sceptical look.

"What's your excuse?" said Merlin.

Gwen sighed, turning her attention back to the teabags and mugs that sat on a tray by the kettle. "I don't know, really. Just keep thinking about things."

"What kind of things?"

"Nothing. I'm sure it's nothing."

"Gwen? What's wrong?"

Gwen said, very softly, "Morgana."

"Oh, Gwen! What's the matter?"

"I'm not sure." There was a tremor in her voice that Merlin didn't like the sound of at all. He sat up and leaned towards her.

"Tell me," he said, gently.

"Promise you'll be straight with me if you think I'm being an idiot?"

"'Course. That's what friends are for, right?"

The kettle boiled. Merlin waited while Gwen made the tea and came to sit next to him on the bed.

"Go on," he said.

"She's changed," said Gwen. "She used to be so kind, and she'd tell me everything. But lately she's very secretive. I know there's something worrying her. She gets these headaches, and I asked her about it the other day and she got quite cross. She accused me of trying to control her. I'd never do that, Merlin!"

"Of course not," said Merlin, his heart sinking.

"I know there's something on her mind. She doesn't sleep very well at all, she wakes up with nightmares, screaming the place down."

"Perhaps she should see a doctor," Merlin suggested. But Gwen caught his eye and he knew - they both knew - a doctor couldn't help with this.

"I'm afraid she's using magic," Gwen said.

"It might not be that," said Merlin, hoping he sounded more reassuring than he felt. "Perhaps she's worried about exams."

"Hm. Well, perhaps," said Gwen, dubiously. "But why would she be so secretive?"

"Pride, maybe? Doesn't want to admit she's fallen behind?"

Gwen considered that for a moment, but the frown didn't leave her face. "But what if it is magic, Merlin? What will we do?"

"We don't know it is, Gwen. It could be all sorts of things. Let's not jump to conclusions, okay?"

"Could you talk to her? Maybe I've done something to upset her, or it's something she can't say to me… she might be able to tell you."

Merlin patted her shoulder. "I'll have a word. Okay? But you must try not to worry."

"All right," said Gwen with a brave smile. "I'll try. So. What brings you here, anyway? What's stopping you from being glued to your books all afternoon?"

"Arthur," said Merlin, realising he liked the sound of Arthur's name on his lips far too much. "He called me."

Gwen gave a little shriek. "And?"

"He asked me out. At least, I think he did."

"You think he did? You mean you can't tell?"

"Well, he asked me out for coffee. But it might not be romantic at all. I don't even know if he's gay."

"Morgana said he's bi. He had a boyfriend at school, but he went abroad or something, so they split up.

Merlin tried to quell the little surge of hope that welled up in him at that. "He might not know that I am though."

"Um," said Gwen. "Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"You told him. The other night, at the regatta. Quite loudly, actually. In fact you sort of announced to the world you were pansexual."

"Did I?"

"And while you were at the bar he asked Gwaine if you were being serious."

"And Gwaine…?"

"Said he knew you'd shagged men and women but he wasn't sure about any kitchen equipment." Gwen giggled. "Which is quite funny, when you think about it."

Merlin buried his head in hands. "It isn't. It isn't funny at all. Gwen, how the hell am I going to have coffee with him now?"

"Oh, Merlin, shh. It's okay. He must like you! Why else would he ask you out?"

"Pity?" wailed Merlin.

"Don't be silly." Gwen gave him a quick shoulder-hug. "Why not just go for a coffee and take it from there? You really like him, don't you?"

"I fancy him like fuck. Don't know about liking him. I don't even know him."

"Well, I do, a bit. And he's lovely, really he is. He's very self-assured. And passionate."

"He's got a really nice arse."

"Merlin!"

"And smile. Nice smile," added Merlin, sheepishly.

"That's better. Oh, Merlin. Don't worry. You deserve a bit of fun."

"He's into blokes, though? Really?"

"I think it's safe to assume he hasn't asked you out just to discuss world politics."

"Oh," said Merlin. "I don't know whether that's a good thing or not. Is it a good thing?"

"You know it is," said Gwen.

Judging by the flutter of excitement in his belly, Merlin thought she was probably right.

*


	2. Chapter 2

After the incident with the fire there were tests for Merlin, lots of tests, and he had to go to special classes to learn how to control his magic. He was given an evil-tasting medicine every night until he was thirteen. It was only when he was older that he realised that most children with magic didn't get their powers until they were nearly grown up, and that even when they did, none could do the things that he could. Magic was a rare gift anyway, and his, it seemed, was rarest of all. He wouldn't be allowed to use it until he was very much grown up. Which seemed to the seven-year-old Merlin to be forever, and certainly so long he couldn't imagine having any use for it once he got that old.

Not everyone liked magic. He often found himself playing alone after the incident in infant school, and he learned not to mention that he was a warlock until he was sure he'd made friends with someone who would understand. Sometimes the kids who didn't have magic were suspicious and jealous, even of little powers: the kids who could move small objects a foot or two with their minds, or light a match with a whisper, or turn a glass of water a funny colour. Some adults who didn't have magic muttered darkly about bad omens and sin. For many, magic was something mysterious and most certainly to be feared.

The Magical Regulation Act was supposed to protect the community and those with magic, to keep everyone safe until young people with magic were mature enough to learn about their power and use it responsibly. This was one of the many things Merlin wanted to change in the world. It was all very well legislating that no-one under the age of twenty five could apply for a licence to study magic, never mind practice it - but it wasn't as if magic was like driving a car. It wasn't a choice. It filled him. It was him. And sometimes not using it felt like a huge, bursting ache inside of him.

But for now, at least, it was the law, and he knew what would happen if he broke it: a permanent mark on his record, incarceration in a magic-proofed prison and, worse still, he knew how disappointed his mother would be.

He also found out, eventually, whom he was named after. His mother said she just liked the name; but his father said that he'd once heard a legend of an ancient warlock called Merlin, who had befriended dragons and saved a kingdom. This old Merlin had always been a hero of his father's, and he told Merlin that the name should inspire him to be wise and use his magic for good, when he was old enough.

Kilgharrah told him that the legend was true; that he had known the ancient Merlin very well, and that Merlin would do well to grow up like him, although preferably not so headstrong.

Merlin had laughed at the dragon, of course, because at thirteen he was half wide-eyed child and half cynical adult, and not particularly comfortable with either. But it seeded in him an interest in myths and legends that had grown into near obsession.

One day Merlin's magic would be great again, the dragon said. And one day, his king would return, and together they would save the world.

Merlin thought the dragon liked to wind him up, half the time.

*

Merlin considered going to Morgana and asking her outright whether she'd started dabbling in magic again or not, but he knew if she had, she would simply lie, and that would get them nowhere. So that left two options: asking other people who might know what she was up to, or spying on her. The latter option, while not particularly appealing, reduced the risk of Morgana finding out that Merlin was onto her. The more facts he had at his disposal before that happened, the better his chances of reasoning with her.

So it was that Merlin and Gwaine went on a stakeout.

This mostly involved sitting on a bench outside Morgana's hall of residence, slathered in sunblock, watching people go in and out who weren't Morgana. Meanwhile Merlin casually tried to get Gwaine to tell him everything he knew about Arthur, which wasn't much, and Gwaine tried to persuade Merlin to tell him why they were waiting for Morgana anyway. So eventually Merlin told him that Gwen was worried about her using magic.

Gwaine gave a low whistle. "She's looking at serious shit for that. Prison, for fuck's sake."

"And losing her soul to a world of pain and evil," Merlin added.

"Evil? Really? You believe in that stuff?"

"Yes." Not wanting to add 'a dragon told me so', Merlin said, "It's a magic thing. You can sense it."

"Oh," said Gwaine. "Well, that's pretty fucked-up."

"But it might be no more than a rumour, and even if it's true, it might not be too late. She could get help."

"Let's hope so, eh?"

Merlin nodded, and turned his attention back to the door.

"Guess you might not want to mention that to Arthur, though," said Gwaine.

"What? Why?"

"About the magic. Morgana's his sister. He might be a little… touchy on the subject, y'know?"

Merlin remembered Morgana's father, that night he'd been called into the Master's office and asked to help. Ice-blue eyes, heart hard as steel.

"Shit," said Merlin.

"There she is." Gwaine nodded towards the door, where Morgana was, at last, emerging. "Who's that with her?"

In the shadow of the porch, Morgana greeted a gorgeous blonde with a hug and a fleeting kiss on the lips. Merlin felt sick. "I've no idea."

"Looks like it's not magic after all, mate. More a case of straightforward, old fashioned cheating."

There was a sound in Merlin's head; a brittle chime of magic, a resonance that reminded him of the carved dragon his father had given him as a child. To protect him.

Morgana's friend was slipping something onto her wrist. A bracelet. A magic bracelet.

"No," he said to Gwaine. "I think it's a lot more complicated than that."

*

When Merlin first arrived at Cambridge, he was told that as a registered magic-user he was strongly encouraged to see the University's Master of Metaphysical Arts. Most colleges and universities (and young offender institutions) provided something similar for young adults with magic, in case they should be overly tempted towards the dark arts. They were usually called 'Magic Mentors', but Cambridge being Cambridge, Master of Metaphysical Arts (Or Ma, for short) it was, and Merlin dutifully made an appointment to meet him on the very first day of term.

Gaius was old and kind, and a lot sharper than he looked. He spent most of his time teaching pharmacology to medical students, although his PhD had been in magical healing arts, and he had magic himself, although he didn't use it much. It was a humble magic, limited mostly to enhancing medicines. Like most people, he found Merlin's power astonishing, but unlike most it didn't frighten him.

Merlin's parents were very insistent that he should obey the laws on magic, however unfair they seemed, for his own good. It bothered the authorities quite enough that Merlin seemed to have so much more power than most magic users. As his father often told him, they would just love an excuse to keep a closer eye on him - quite possibly in a locked-down facility of some kind.

Gaius was very, very firm about the rules. This suited Merlin. It helped him keep his promise to his mother and father; kept him on the rails.

It didn't suit Morgana at all.

*

Merlin set out at half-past seven, freshly showered and wearing one of Gwaine's shirts (few of Merlin's shirts had collars on, and those that did looked like old school shirts, because that's exactly what they were). The sun was low and muted, the heat less suffocating than it had been during the day, and Merlin thought a casual evening stroll before he went to meet Arthur might calm him down. Oddly enough, he found himself wandering remarkably close to the Gordon Cameron Lecture Theatre, which happened to be (according to Fitzwilliam's twitter) where Arthur's lecture was. And seeing as he was passing, why not stick his head around the door? Just out of interest. To pass the time.

The room was packed. Merlin slipped in and found a spot to stand at the back. The big screen at the front was packed with impressive-looking graphs, bordered by an array of images: photos of animals and forests and wildlife rescue centres. One of them was Arthur, surrounded by smiling rescue workers, holding a lemur. It was nuzzling him.

Arthur himself was speaking, and he had the whole room in the palm of his hand, from the crusty academics to the earnest environmentalists to ordinary students. Merlin couldn't put his finger on how he did it, but Arthur just oozed charisma. His voice was honest and inspiring, and everything about him screamed honour.

After a few moments the meaning of his words not only hypnotised Merlin but started to sink into his brain. Underneath the academic jargon was an undeniable case; what he was saying made real, honest sense.

Merlin was spellbound.

After the talk there was a lot of applause, far more enthusiastic than the usual ripples Merlin had heard at public lectures. There were questions, some just dressed-up agreements, some campaigning statements, some more penetrating interrogations of the science behind the work. Arthur stepped back, leaving his supervisor to take credit and defend his research, but Merlin couldn't take his eyes off him. He looked a little smug, truth be told, but even that Merlin could forgive him.

Merlin had intended to leave as things were wrapping up and get to the Coffee Shop before Arthur, in case going to the lecture seemed a bit odd or stalkerish. But he left it too late, got caught in the crowd making their way through the narrow doors, and suddenly Arthur appeared, touched his elbow and said, "Hi, Merlin. I didn't know you were here."

"Hi! I was just, um…"

"Passing?" Arthur gave him a little smile.

"Yeah. Something like that. I just caught the end. You were great."

Arthur looked genuinely pleased, and thankfully showed no sign of thinking Merlin was scary.

Once safe in a quiet booth in the Coffee Shop with a steaming cappuccino (Arthur) and a hot chocolate (Merlin), Merlin started to relax a little.

"So," he said, bothering the marshmallows in his chocolate with his spoon. "Where did you learn public speaking?"

"School, I suppose." Then, in response to Merlin's raised eyebrow, "Winchester."

"Ah."

"Debating champion, four years running."

"Right. So is it all rhetoric, or you really think there's a chance to save the lemurs?"

"I hope so. The important thing is we have to try," said Arthur, with another hint of that passion and determination that sent a shiver up Merlin's spine. "Not just for the lemur but the whole habitat it lives in. The people who live there have a huge knowledge and understanding of their world, and honestly, if we can't save one tiny animal, we're all fucked."

The word 'fucked' vibrated through Merlin like a shock, and filled his head with a lot of very appealing images, most of which involved him and Arthur being naked and rolling around on Merlin's bed. Merlin very slowly and deliberately scooped up a marshmallow and popped it in his mouth, where he let it dissolve. He kept his eyes down on the swirls of chocolate and cream in his mug, not trusting himself to meet Arthur's gaze.

"Sorry, Merlin," Arthur said. "I didn't ask you here to talk about work."

"No, that's okay. Your work's great. And thanks for asking me. I probably owe you a bit of an apology, going by how hungover I was the day after we met."

"Nothing to apologise for. I'm pleased to say you were the perfect gentleman."

They grinned at each other.

"Well," said Arthur, stirring his coffee. "I'm glad you agreed to come here tonight. I thought I might like to get to know you a bit better. You're different."

"Different? Me? Nah. I think you might find I'm disappointingly normal."

"Oh, I doubt that. Let's recap. You're studying mythology. You live in Trinity. You aren't particularly sporty but you seem to have a lot of friends who are. And you're-"

"Pansexual. I know. You should ignore Gwaine, he thinks he's funny. Apparently."

Arthur laughed. "I was going to say you're a bit of a lightweight when it comes to cocktails."

Merlin's spoon dropped to the table with a loud clatter, splattering far more dramatically than should have been possible for the tiny amount of cream and chocolate it had held. Arthur laughed again, and Merlin's cheeks went hot.

"Well, obviously," Merlin said, patting frantically with a napkin at the mess on the table, on his jeans, on Gwaine's shirt (and he didn't care, Gwaine deserved it). "But don't expect me to make any more sense when I'm sober."

"I'm glad," Arthur said, and winked.

Merlin didn't know what the hell to make of that. Was Arthur glad he was a total clutz? Or that he had no tolerance for alcohol? Or that he was, (according to bloody Gwaine) happy to fuck anything that moved? What?

"Where did you go to school?" Arthur asked.

At least that was an easy question. "Nowhere special. Local High School. Sixth Form College. In Wales."

"Wales, eh? Didn't pick up the accent."

"My family's English, I only moved there when I was nine."

"Did you like it?"

"Wales? It was okay. I miss the sea, sometimes, I lived near the sea and I miss…. On nights like this, when it's been really hot all day, and I'd been at school, shut indoors, I'd go down to the beach and stay there for hours. The breeze comes off the sea and it's fresh and you can breathe again, and I'd watch the sun go down. Sometimes I'd build a fire down there and stay for hours even when it was dark."

With Kilgharrah, curled up with rustling scales and old stories and the faint smell of burnt matches as the dragon breathed…

"See," said Arthur, quietly. "Different."

Merlin wriggled a little in his seat, a bit embarrassed; he'd rambled on more than he intended. He couldn't help it. He liked Arthur, he really did, and when he looked up to check in case Arthur thought different was a bad thing, there was this tiny smile on Arthur's face, something soft under all that brash confidence, and Merlin liked it. Merlin liked it a lot.

"Yeah," said Merlin, with a lopsided grin. "Quite unique, really."

"I like the beach. I surf a lot in the summer."

"Newquay? Gwaine went down there last bank holiday."

"Malibu, mostly. Sometimes the Gold Coast."

"Oh. Of course."

"Nothing wrong with Newquay, just the weather, you know. Unreliable."

"They get good summers down there."

"Well, yes, sometimes. Speaking of which, do you have any plans this summer?"

"I've got a job, back in Wales. My Dad's a ranger in the national park, and I'll be working in the information centre."

"Sounds interesting," said Arthur, politely. Painfully politely.

"I used to work there weekends, and in the summers when I was at school. It's okay. What about you?"

Arthur grimaced. "Catching up, mostly. I've missed a lot being in Madagascar, so there's essays to do and exams to pass in September, otherwise they won't let me come back next year."

Merlin laughed. "And here's me, expecting you'd be off on some exotic summer expedition."

"No, just London and a lot of books. Can't say I'm looking forward to it."

"Does sound a bit dusty."

"Ah well, maybe by the time we get to the end of term they'll change the rules, or my Dad will bribe someone with a huge donation to college funds or something."

Merlin's eyes went wide. "Can he do that?"

Arthur laughed, tossing his head back, neck arching, his whole body rolling with it laugh, relaxed and comfortable. Merlin watched, wondering what it would feel like to lick that skin, to kiss it, to press his lips into Arthur's neck and hear him moan from the joy of it….

"Obviously I wouldn't let him, even if he could," said Arthur. "I want to make my own way. Anyway, he doesn't really approve of me getting so behind. He didn't want me to go to Madagascar in the first place."

"Why not?"

"A distraction, he called it. And, well, to be fair, I think he wanted me around. My sister was going through a hard time. But she never listens to me anyway, so it wouldn't have done any good."

"Morgana?" asked Merlin.

"Yeah. She can be a bit… stubborn."

Merlin made a non committal sort of noise and waited a bit, hoping Arthur might say something else, like, for example, 'Morgana's got magic, did you know? Magic is great.' But he didn't; he took a sip of coffee before setting his cup down neatly in its saucer.

Merlin gulped his chocolate, which was delicious, and gave Arthur what he hoped was a sophisticated smile.

"You've got a bit of a-" Arthur reached across the table and smudged at Merlin's face with his thumb, smoothing from the corner of his mouth to his cheek. Merlin's skin tingled. It felt sticky.

"Thanks," said Merlin, suddenly shy, rubbing where Arthur had touched him. "Cups are a bit big." Which was a pretty pathetic thing to say, but Arthur didn't laugh at him, thank goodness.

"My father's very protective of Morgana," said Arthur. "I don't know why, she's tough as old boots, but he has an old-fashioned attitude to women."

Merlin nodded in agreement. He'd met some of Uther's old-fashioned attitudes first-hand, and it made him all the more grateful for his own father, who might be as stubborn as a mule, but was also kind-hearted with a fierce, unconditional love for his family.

Merlin swallowed a rare wave of homesickness, and wracked his brain for something to say; something that didn't include magic or dragons. He was starting to panic at the stretching silence when Arthur said, "So, you and Gwaine."

"Me and Gwaine?"

"Are you…" Arthur made vague circular gestures with his hands.

"No! God, no. He's just a mate. A good mate, but, no. For one thing, he's straight."

"Ah."

"And totally not my type."

"Ah. And your type is….?"

Merlin threw caution to the wind, grinned wickedly and said, "Blond rowers."

He saw the unmistakable spark in Arthur's eyes, and his skin tingled as they leaned in towards each other across the table.

"I wasn't sure," said Arthur. "I know it seems like I'm pretty confident, man of the world and all that, and, well, it's true. I am. But I haven't done this much."

"Me neither."

"Really? Because Gwaine gave the impression…"

"It's generally best not to believe everything Gwaine tells you."

"Well, he was right about one thing."

"Yeah?"

"You make a lot more sense sober."

Merlin squinted sideways at him, flirting, enjoying himself rather a lot. "Are you saying my best friend talked you into giving me a second chance?"

Arthur smirked back at him. "To be fair I didn't take much convincing."

"No?"

"There's something about you, Merlin. I can't quite put my finger on it, but…"

Merlin was hit by a sudden wave of déjà-vu, but he shrugged it off. This was too good. This was fun.

"I'm strange and unusual," he said, waggling his fingers. "With hidden powers."

"Powers, eh?"

Merlin's stomach fluttered; too close to the truth. "Clearly. The power to charm blond rowers, for a start."

"Ha! I don't suppose you row, do you?"

"Me? Fuck, no."

"Pity. You'd make a great cox."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Cox. Sits in the end of the boat and yells orders. You need to be able to fold up small and I couldn't help noticing the other night, you're quite limber."

"Really? You noticed, eh?"

"Yes, Merlin, I noticed. Like you noticed that I have a broad chest and amazingly blue eyes."

"Are they blue? Really?" Merlin peered at him, pretending it was a revelation that they were the most incredible eyes he'd ever seen. Bluer than cornflowers, bluer than the summer sky, bluer than… well, they were very, very blue.

"Even bluer than yours," said Arthur, a little smugly.

"An eye-colour contest? Seriously, Arthur?"

"Your eyelashes are longer. I'll give you that."

Merlin laughed, and fluttered his eyelashes, and then they both laughed, and Merlin felt silly and reckless and rather happier than he'd felt for, well, ever, pretty much.

He reached across the table, was about to touch Arthur's hand-

-when another hand got in the way. The waitress, collecting Arthur's cup. "I'll have to ask you boys to finish up. We're closing in a minute."

"Bloody hell," said Arthur. "It's after nine. How did that happen?"

"Must be my scintillating conversation," said Merlin, and started to panic: should he ask Arthur to go on somewhere? A pub, or a club, or a walk by the river? Or should he keep quiet and let Arthur invite him? It was Arthur's date, after all….

"I've got to get up early tomorrow," Arthur said. "Training at seven." And then, as Merlin's heart was sinking, "How about I walk you home?"

Merlin worried briefly about whether walking someone home meant stuff might happen after that, or not, or whether it was a veiled insult or….

"It's on my way," Arthur said. "Makes sense, right?"

But his eyes said something different, something about _stuff might happen after_ , and Merlin grinned widely and nodded and said, "Okay then, if you like."

*

They arrived under the lamppost by the entrance to Wolfson Hall half an hour later.

"Well," said Merlin. "This is me."

"Right," said Arthur. His hands were deep in his pockets, rustling change.

Merlin took a deep breath, then blurted, "Do you want to come up for coffee? Or, you've already had coffee, sorry, I mean, beer, I think I've got beer, or wine, yeah, there might be-"

Arthur surged forwards and kissed him. Brief, to start with, but then Merlin grabbed him and kissed him back, hotly, blindly, arms sliding smoothly around Arthur's waist.

A wolf whistle echoed across the quadrangle, and they broke the kiss to look up. Arthur slid his arms around him, too. It felt amazing to be held like that, strong and warm, protective, and it seemed neither of them were about to let go.

There was another whistle, followed by a shout that might have been an insult. It was hard to tell, especially as most of Merlin's being was still singing from Arthur's kiss.

"Who was that?" Merlin said, peering into the darkness and seeing only distant silhouettes, running from the quad amid peals of raucous laughter.

"Nobody important." Arthur brushed his lips across Merlin's forehead, deliciously and needlessly protective. "Morons."

"You know them?"

"Possibly. Had a bit of trouble at the clubhouse once."

"What sort of trouble?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"Did they hurt you?"

Arthur laughed. "Hardly. They're just a bunch of bigots. Townies. Nothing better to do than drink too much and do a bit of petty homophobic taunting."

"Oh. It's funny, I've never come across that before. Well, not since school."

"It happens. It doesn't matter."

"No." They smiled at each other, and Merlin twirled a strand of hair behind Arthur's ear.

Arthur's phone began to ring. He gave Merlin an apologetic look and stepped back to get the phone out of his pocket and answer it. Merlin stared at the ground, not quite sure what to do with himself. Deprived of the warmth of Arthur's body, he felt suddenly cold.

Arthur turned away and walked a little way back up the path, while Merlin waited, feeling a bit like a spare part, trying not to listen. Whoever Arthur was talking to appeared to be annoying him; although he kept his words neutral and acquiescent his voice was distinctly cross.

Eventually he clicked off the phone and turned his attention back to Merlin.

"I'm really sorry," Arthur said. "I have to go. Bit of a family crisis."

"Morgana?" Merlin said, without thinking.

"As a matter of fact, yes. How did you know?"

"Just a guess. You mentioned her earlier. That's all."

"So I did. I'm really sorry, but I'd better go and play peacemaker. Not sure what she's done this time but Dad sounded really mad. Told me to get the late train to London."

"It's fine. I hope everything's okay. Sounds pretty drastic."

"It's probably nothing much. Dad likes to shout a lot about not very much, and I need to stay on his good side, what with Madagascar and everything. I really am sorry."

"It's fine," said Merlin, again. "Go. Thanks. I had a nice time."

"Me too. Tell you what, why don't you text me? If you want to, you know, go for coffee again. Take up rowing. Anything like that."

He was smiling at Merlin, his hair shining so golden under the streetlamp, and Merlin smiled back.

"I might," he said.

Arthur gave him one last, sweet, fleeting kiss, and turned to jog back the way they'd come.

Merlin watched him until he turned the corner. He was grinning like a fool.

 

 

**Kiss, by Kironomi**

*

A couple days after his date with Arthur, Merlin was in the Wren library - one of his favourite places in the whole world - when Gwen sidled up to him and pushed a note between his line of vision and the book he was reading.

_'Have you been taken hostage? If so, nod once. If not, and you'd like to come and have a drink with me, nod twice.'_

Merlin looked up at the big clock on the library wall. It was nine o'clock - and seeing as he'd arrived at the library at ten past nine in the morning, he could only assume he'd been there nearly twelve hours.

Time did strange things when Merlin lost himself in books.

He smiled at Gwen, nodded twice, and gathered up his things, including the book that he had just begun to read. It was a thick volume about the Anglo-Saxon chronicles, with a detailed analysis of the role of dragons in ancient stories. The underlying assumption that dragons weren't real always amused him, for one thing, but there was something else there, something underneath the pompous literary analysis that was twanging at a truth.

But now he was tired, and Gwen looked sad. Time enough for books tomorrow.

They went to the college bar, which was reasonably quiet and offered the relative privacy of a corner booth. They sat side-by-side with their drinks, and Gwen pushed a packet of crisps at Merlin. "I know you haven't eaten all day. It's always the same when you get into library mode."

Suddenly ravenous, Merlin dived into the crisps with heartfelt thanks, and munched away as he watched Gwen sip at her white wine spritzer.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She tried for a smile, but it didn't last. "Not really," she admitted.

"Morgana?"

Gwen nodded. "She came to my room the night before last. We didn't have a row or anything - she wasn't there long enough for that - but she made it pretty clear she doesn't want to see me any more. She packed up all her stuff."

"Oh, no! Why didn't you tell me?"

Gwen's eyes filled with tears. "You were so happy after your date with Arthur. I didn't want to be a downer."

Merlin squeezed her hand. "Oh Gwen, you can tell me anything. Any time. How do you feel?"

"Pretty horrible. It wouldn't be so bad if she had told me why she left. She looks really tired, Merlin, like she hasn't slept in days. I'm so worried about her."

"You're too kind. Anyone else would be furious with her!"

"It's not her fault though, is it? It's the magic."

"No," said Merlin firmly. "It's not the magic. It's what she chooses to do with it. Don't go thinking she's not responsible for her own actions, because she is."

Gwen's tears spilled over and her shoulders shook.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry, Gwen. Here." Merlin dug a clean tissue out of his pocket and handed it to her. "It's not your fault, that's the important thing."

"I don't really care who's fault it is. I just want her back!"

Merlin squeezed her hand, comforting her as best he could while he wrestled with himself, not sure whether to tell her about the woman he'd seen Morgana with or not. Right now it seemed as though it would just add insult to injury.

In fact, what he should do - what he should have done - was crystal clear.

"I'll talk to her," he said. "As soon as she gets back from London."

"What makes you think she's gone to London?"

"Arthur had to go to see his father. He said it was a family crisis, and that his father was really angry with Morgana."

"But I saw Morgana this morning, waiting for the minibus."

"What minibus?"

"The King's bus. She goes every Thursday to mentor some gifted and talented kid at Comberton School."

Merlin frowned. "That's nice of her."

"Yes. She's very kind. I suppose I can't blame her for not going to London. Her father has a wicked temper."

"Yes, he does." But something else, something distinctly upsetting, was occurring to him.

"What if there wasn't any family crisis at all? What if Arthur was trying to ditch me?" Merlin said, miserably.

"What on earth would make you think that?"

"Well, he hasn't called. Not once. If Uther was angry with Morgana, she wouldn't have much choice but to go and see him. Even when things were really bad back in the first term, she wouldn't defy him like that."

"I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation," Gwen said, gently. "Arthur seems like a very honest, honourable person to me. And he'd be an idiot not to like you."

"So would Morgana be an idiot, not to like you," said Merlin.

"Hmm," said Gwen. "And yet…"

"Yeah."

Gwen got to her feet, empty glass in hand. "Drink up, Merlin. It's my round. And looking at the pair of us, it could be a long night."

*

The thing about keys, Merlin thought, is that they change in size. Sometimes they're exactly the right size for the door, fit in the lock dead easily and hey presto, in you go. Sometimes, for no reason whatsoever, they grow really big and won't fit in the hole at all. And at those times (of which this was one), he found himself severely tempted to use magic to open the lock with a wave of his hand, rather than dicking about trying to get the key into the lock. Especially as he was dying for a piss.

Perhaps it wasn't always a bad thing that magic was banned. The key always seemed to grow biggest when he'd had a few beers, and magic got unpredictable under the influence of alcohol.

Suddenly the key found its way home, and Merlin's door swung open.

He stumbled into his room, kicking the door shut behind him, and headed straight for the bathroom.

A few minutes later, when he was brushing his teeth (toothbrushes seemed to suffer from the same growth problem keys did, he noticed), his phone rang. He wrestled for a moment with his jeans, which he'd already taken off, until his phone fell out of his pocket and onto the floor, where it made one more feeble ring and fell silent.

Merlin picked it up and squinted at it.

Missed call.

Well, obviously.

The phone started to ring again, so loudly and suddenly that Merlin dropped it. This time, however, he managed to retrieve it before the caller rang off.

"Hello. 's Merlin."

"Did I disturb you? I'm sorry it's so late."

"Who's 'is?"

"It's Arthur."

"Arthur!" Merlin nearly dropped the phone again, juggling it inexpertly in one hand for a moment before capturing it between his shoulder and his ear. "I thought you were in London?"

There was a pause. "I am in London, Merlin."

"But you're… Oh. On the phone. Yes."

"Are you all right?"

"Sure! I'm great. Grand. Never better. And you?"

"You sound a bit odd."

"I nearly dropped the phone."

"I see." Arthur's voice sounded a bit muffled, as if he was laughing or something.

"So, you're in London."

"Yes. I hope you don't mind me calling. Things have been difficult and, well, I've been thinking about you."

"'Bout me?"

"Yes. I'm sorry our date got cut short the other night."

Merlin just grinned at the phone.

"Anyway, I should be back in a few days. I was hoping we could meet up and, well, pick up where we left off?"

"Yes," said Merlin, still grinning his head off. "That is a most excellent idea."

"I'll look forward to it."

"Me too."

Arthur made a pleased sort of sound down the phone. Merlin couldn't think of anything to say; he was suddenly very, very happy indeed.

"Well, I'll see you, then."

"You certainly will."

"Goodnight, Merlin. Don't forget to drink some water before you go to bed, okay?"

"Sure." Merlin had no idea why Arthur would want him to drink water, but if he did, well, Merlin wasn't about to disappoint him. "I'll do it right away."

"Excellent. Goodnight."

"'Night!"

Merlin filled a glass with water and took it to his room, where he sat it down on the bedside table. He'd just sit here on the bed, put his phone down carefully just so, in case Arthur rang again. And then he'd just lie down…

… In two short minutes, Merlin was fast asleep.

*

Merlin couldn't remember his parents telling him he'd been adopted. It felt as if he'd always known. It didn't bother him: he had no idea who his birth mother might be (he'd been discovered outside A&E when he was just a few hours old) and he even looked a bit like his Mum (blue eyes) and Dad (dark hair) and his Granddad (tall, lanky limbs). His Mum was kind, and his Dad was incredibly wise. They had always loved him, and he them. They were his family and he wanted no other.

But that didn't stop him wondering, sometimes, how he'd come to be in the world. His birth mother was never found; the police supposed she was very young, too young to cope with a baby but wise enough to know it.

Merlin didn't think about it often, but when he did, it always came back to the same thing.

Did she have magic?

It ran in families, they said. It often skipped one, or two, or three generations. So she might not have done. But she might.

What had it been like for her, giving birth, alone and afraid? Did she ever think of him now?

Merlin knew who his family were, no doubts at all.

But he did wonder, from time to time, where he came from.

*

Gwaine was being exceedingly loud.

Merlin sat in the dining hall, hunched over breakfast and nursing a hangover worthy of someone who'd drunk their way through a small vineyard.

"And then we went on to Coco's," Gwaine went on. "It was very 90s, loads of trance, and I got talking to one of the bouncers after I helped him get rid of an undesirable element. Turns out the bouncer is in Fitzwilliam, a scholarship student. So when the club shuts he asks us to go join him for a pint in this members-only bar round the back, and there were a few of us; me, that guy Leon from the rowing team, and this door guy, Percival. Best laugh I've had in _years_. Man, they had some stories. Arthur wants me and Percival to try out for the team."

"Did you say Percival?" Merlin asked, trying to avoid the throbbing in his head long enough to listen to Gwaine's reply.

"Yeah. He said most people call him Percy but he hates it. Reminds him of Percy the Pig!"

"I used to know someone called Percival," Merlin said. Then he frowned, uncertain. "At least I thought I did."

"Maybe it's the same guy. Says he's worked in a lot of clubs. Done a bit of security as well. Fucking muscles like a bag of coconuts, I'm not kidding."

"Sounds lovely," said Merlin. "D'you mind if I get on with dying in peace now, please?" He pushed his bowl of crunchy-nut cornflakes to one side and rested his head on the table. It was pleasantly cool, if a little sticky.

"We're going out for a few beers on Sunday. You should come."

"Never drinking ever again," muttered Merlin.

"Sure, mate." Gwaine slapped Merlin on the back, sending ripples of pain through Merlin's head. "At least you didn't embarrass yourself in front of Arthur and half the rowing team this time, eh?"

Merlin shot bolt upright in his chair, and groaned. "Oh no."

"What's up?"

"Arthur. Oh God."

"He's in London, remember? Don't worry, I promise I'll never tell him you got wasted drinking spritzers with a girl."

"No, no, no, no. He called me. Last night. I think. Oh God."

Merlin's head banged back down on the table. Gwaine patted his back again, very gently this time.

Merlin moaned softly.

"It's fine," Gwaine said. "It's not like he hasn't seen you tanked before."

"Oh God. He'll think I'm an alcoholic."

"Or a student. Which you are."

"But I don't drink! Hardly ever!"

"Well, let's face it, you don't have to drink much, do you? Total lightweight."

"Not helping."

"Well, sorry, mate, that's all I've got. If you want to convince Arthur you're not out on the piss every night, you'll have to be on your best behaviour."

"That should be easy. I'm never going to drink again."

"Right. Good man."

Gwaine scraped back his chair, which made Merlin feel like the inside of his skull was being gouged with a rusty spoon, and there was an horrendous clatter of plates and cutlery as he stacked up his breakfast things.

"I've got lectures," Gwaine announced. "Walk with me as far as the library?"

"Just leave me here to die," Merlin said.

"Nah," said Gwaine, pulling Merlin up with one strong arm. "You know my motto. Never leave a man behind."

*

By lunchtime Merlin felt a bit more human, and able to drag himself out of the blissful dark and quiet of the far reaches of the library and into the wretched sunlight. He bought a tuna baguette from the bar and found himself a quiet spot in the courtyard to sit and eat it in. Keen to escape the thoughts of shame (about Arthur) and worry (about Morgana) and guilt (about Gwen - he'd introduced her to Morgana, after all) and something he couldn't quite untangle about the names of Gwaine's clubbing mates, Merlin pulled a book out of his bag and fell gratefully into someone else's words.

He became so engrossed in a passage about the wood of the phoenix that he jumped and made an embarrassing squeaking noise when his phone beeped at him.

It was a text message. From Arthur.

_Back tomorrow. Fancy a drink? The Grape and Fig at 8?_

A drink - at least of the alcoholic sort- was the very last thing Merlin wanted. He texted back as fast as his thumbs would go.

_Fantastic. See you tim._

Merlin pressed send, and only then did he read back the message. He threw his phone back into his bag in disgust. He could only hope that Arthur understood the vagaries of predictive text, and didn't think Merlin was actually going out with someone called Tim.

Merlin gave a deep, deep sigh, and went back to hide in the library.

*


	3. Chapter 3

Morgana's room was tucked away at the end of the corridor on the top floor of a rambling old stone building in Murray Edwards. The door, reached by three steep steps, fit it's irregularly-shaped opening perfectly; the wood had warped to such a degree that Merlin could only assume that the building must have warped with it for it still to fit.

Merlin knocked, but the door remained firmly and resolutely shut.

He wasn't surprised. Morgana hadn't answered his texts, phone calls or emails, either. Perhaps she was in London, after all. Or perhaps she was avoiding him on purpose.

Merlin pondered the alternatives as he traipsed dispiritedly back through the labyrinth of hallways and stairs to the front door, and out into the bright morning sunshine. The sun had already burned off the mist that had been hovering over the grass in the quadrangle when he arrived, and was warming the world fast. Even the ancient stones of Cambridge.

And there, sitting on the very same bench where he had sat on stakeout with Gwaine a few days before, was Morgana.

*

"I saw Gwen the other day," Merlin said, sitting down next to Morgana on the bench. "She told me you'd split up."

Morgana nodded and looked down at the ground. She'd kicked off one sandal and was tickling the cropped blades of grass with her toes.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. "I thought you guys were really good together."

Morgana shrugged, but not unkindly.

"Is there someone else?"

"No." Morgana's hand went to the ornate bracelet on her left wrist. "It just didn't work out with Gwen. I'm sorry. I know she's your friend."

It was on the tip of Merlin's tongue to say _so are you_ , but that wasn't strictly true. Morgana had never been his friend in that way: he had seen things, shared things with her she didn't want to think about. He was a walking reminder of fear and loneliness, and everything she wanted and couldn't have any more. Of course he couldn't be her friend. "I care about you, too," he said. 

"There's no need. I'm fine. But please." She put her hand on his arm, her eyes searching his, intent and fierce but still kind. "Look after Gwen for me?"

"Of course," said Merlin, softly, and put his hand over hers. "I promise."

"Thank you."

She pulled back and they shifted fractionally apart from each other on the bench. She slipped her sandals back on, and picked up her bag.

"Is everything all right?" Merlin asked, the word 'everything' weighted with things he knew she wouldn't like him to say out loud.

A fleeting smile crossed her face, and she hooked one long strand of hair behind her ear. "Fine, thank you Merlin."

"If it's not-"

"Seriously," said Morgana, the slightest hint of steel in her voice. "I am absolutely fine."

"Good," said Merlin, flatly.

Morgana got to her feet and pushed the sleeves of her thin cardigan up to her elbows. The bracelet shifted, catching the sun, gold and silver. In a flash of light, Merlin caught hint of the power of it. 

"Look after Gwen," Morgana said, her voice light and everyday. "Don't worry about me. I'll call you if I need anything. I promise."

She smiled at him, full-force, one of those you couldn't help but return. "Do that," said Merlin. "Please."

Merlin watched her go up the steps and through the big double doors that swung shut behind her.

He knew she'd never call.

*

Merlin arrived at Gaius's lab for his monthly appointment later that afternoon, to find the door slightly ajar and a rather odd smell permeating the corridor. He tapped lightly on the door and went inside. 

Gaius was bent over his bench, pouring a murky green liquid into a beaker. The smell was stronger: it was a bit like burnt sugar mixed with floor polish.

"Hi," Merlin said. "Who are you planning to poison?"

"My wife's kitchen table," Gaius replied, stirring the mixture in the bowl vigorously with a wooden spoon.

"What did it do?"

"It had the audacity to get itself stained when my nephew attacked it with a marker pen. Sit down, Merlin, I won't be a minute."

Merlin perched himself on a stool by the window. Gaius's lab afforded a fantastic view of the city: jagged rooflines and old, sagging stone contrasting sharply with grey roads, glass shopfronts and garish lights. Old Cambridge and new Cambridge generally kept a distance from each other, and it was easy to live in college buildings that felt as old as time and forget that out there was a vibrant, modern world. 

"Tea?"

Gaius set a tray on the table between them, laden with a huge brown teapot, mugs and a plate of chocolate biscuits. Merlin's hangover was long gone and he was ravenous.

"Help yourself," said Gaius. "I know they're your favourites."

With a mouth full of sweet, crunchy biscuit and a hot mug of tea cradled in his hands, Merlin felt distinctly comforted. Gaius was always kind to him.

"So." Gaius leaned back in his chair and rested his mug of tea carefully on the windowsill. "How have you been?"

"Okay," said Merlin.

"Hmmm?"

"Things are a bit difficult."

"Ah. Exam nerves?"

"No, not really." Merlin shrugged. "Is that a bad sign?"

"Considering your understanding of Celtic literature? I shouldn't think so. How's the Norse vocab?"

"It's okay." This was an understatement: Merlin was blessed with an excellent memory and an uncanny familiarity with his subject. Sometimes it felt more like remembering than learning. 

"So, what's troubling you?"

Merlin hesitated. The thing with Arthur was too new yet, too ridiculous and impossible and far too much about sex to want to discuss with Gaius. "I'm worried about Morgana."

"Ah."

Something flickered in those shrewd old eyes: more recognition than surprise.

"She's split up with Gwen, I think to go out with someone else."

"Do you know this other person?"

Merlin shook his head. "I've only seen her once. I don't even know if she's a student. I don't think so."

"That might not be anything to worry about. Relationships change."

"She was awful to Gwen. She really hurt her."

"Poor Gwen," said Gaius, gently.

"Yes. She doesn't deserve it. I don't know what to do, Gaius. Gwen's my friend, but if Morgana's in trouble…."

"And is Morgana in trouble?"

Sometimes Gaius had this intent, penetrating expression, as if he could see right into Merlin's soul. It wasn't a comfortable experience, being looked at like that. And he was doing it now.

"I don't know," Merlin said, barely resisting an urge to squirm. "I mean, I haven't seen her much lately." That was a weak excuse, and they both knew it. "It's not like I've been asked to interfere this time."

Gaius leaned back a little and topped up his tea with more milk, all the while keeping Merlin firmly in his gaze. 

"You think I should find out," said Merlin.

"Do you care if she's using magic?" 

"Yes, of course I do."

"Then why aren't you doing anything about it?"

 _Because of Arthur_ , Merlin realised with a shock. He took a deep breath, and the world shifted a little. A bit away from crazy, and horny and besotted, and back to earth and root and dragon. He exhaled. "I'm sorry. But what should I do? She's just going to deny everything."

"Stay close to her and things will become clear, I expect," said Gaius. 

"Oh, great, thanks a lot," said Merlin with a rueful grin. 

"And what about you, my boy? I hope you haven't neglected your own magic in all this."

'No, I'm fine. Still doing all the deep breathing, going to yoga, all that."

"I'm very glad to hear it."

Merlin was about to shrug it off. He'd been suppressing his own magic for most of his life; it was second nature and he was sharply aware of the consequences of doing otherwise. But…

"It's hard," he confessed. For the first time, to anyone but a dusty old dragon in a cave two hundred miles away.

"Go on," said Gaius, gently.

"I know it's not forever, and I know it has to be this way. But magic isn't like an ability you just choose not to use, like speaking French or knowing how to carve wood. It's unspent energy. It's a force of nature. It's who I am."

Again, that keen look in Gaius's eyes. He'd been expecting this.

"I'm not like Morgana," Merlin said, firmly. "I'm not going to break the rules."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Gaius.

"But it's not easy, waiting. I feel for her, in a way. I understand."

"Which is exactly why you're so good for her."

"I wish she saw it that way," said Merlin, with a sigh.

"Perhaps, in time, she will," said Gaius. "More tea?"

*

 

Merlin arrived at The Grape and Fig half an hour early, so nervous that his mind blanked completely when the barman asked him what he wanted to drink. He finally settled on a cranberry and apple juice, determined to quash any misgivings Arthur might have about his drinking habits.

He found a table in the corner, where he could watch the door and the window without being too obvious, and settled down to wait.

The thing about being early was that the other person was bound to seem late long before they were technically due to arrive. By ten to eight, Merlin was starting to think he might get stood up. By eight o'clock he was twitchy, bordering on cross. By ten past, when Arthur finally arrived, Merlin was finishing his second cranberry and apple juice and considering whether or not to leave before people started to feel sorry for him. 

"Train delayed at King's Cross," Arthur said, kicking his large sports bag under the table. "Had to wait for a substitute driver or something. I hope you haven't been waiting long?"

"Just got here," Merlin lied, scooping up his empty glass quickly before Arthur could notice it. "Can I get you a drink?"

"That would be great." Arthur spread his jacket carefully over the back of the chair opposite Merlin's, and began to roll up his sleeves. It dawned on Merlin that Arthur had come straight from the station so he wouldn't be too late, without even stopping off at home for a shower or a change of clothes along the way. He felt ridiculously pleased about that.

"What would you like?" Merlin said.

"Shall we split a bottle of wine? They do a fantastic Italian Pinot Noir here."

"Sure," said Merlin, absently, staring at Arthur's forearms. He would probably have agreed to anything at that point.

"Here." Arthur pressed a twenty pound note into Merlin's hand. "My treat."

Merlin returned from the bar a few moments later with a bottle, two glasses and very little change. But Arthur, who had regained his composure and looked perfectly relaxed, didn't seem to mind at all, and wouldn't let Merlin go halves either. He smiled at Merlin, a smile that lit up his whole face, and Merlin sat opposite him and smiled back.

He'd really missed Arthur. Which was a bit pathetic really, as they'd only met a few days ago, but Merlin couldn't bring himself to care about that. He just felt a lot better about the world in general when Arthur was there, for some inexplicable reason.

"Shall I pour?" Merlin said.

"Please." Arthur leaned back in his chair. He seemed too big for it, somehow, filling the space around him with confidence and charisma.

Merlin focused on pouring the wine and told himself to get a grip.

Arthur held out his glass for Merlin to clink. "Cheers."

Merlin clinked. "Cheers."

They both drank: Arthur a gulp, while Merlin determinedly limited himself to a sip. It tasted delicious: Merlin didn't know much about wine but he liked this one.

"So," Merlin said. "You're back."

"Yes, thank God."

"And the family crisis?"

"Averted, I think. For now, at least. Things are never really over when it comes to Morgana and my father. They love each other to bits, and actually they're very much alike. But neither of them sees it. So they wind each other up constantly."

"I think that happens a lot," said Merlin. "Gwaine says his sister and their dad yell at each other all the time. He was glad to leave home."

"Morgana's made an art form of it; she can enrage him without even being there. She had a bit of a meltdown while I was in Madagascar, and Dad blamed me because I wasn't around to keep an eye on her."

"A meltdown?" 

"Yeah."

Merlin waited for Arthur to go into details, maybe mention the 'magic' word. But he didn't. He just drained his glass and nodded.

"That sounds serious," Merlin said. "Did it happen again?"

"Oh God, no. Nothing that bad. She's just blown off one too many tutorials. No sense of responsibility."

Merlin couldn't feel any relief in that. Arthur wasn't telling him the whole truth, and that was frustrating and disappointing. "She split up with Gwen," Merlin said.

"Did she? When?"

"The same day you left, I think. Didn't she tell you?" Merlin refilled Arthur's wine glass. His own was still barely touched.

"I haven't seen her. Dad ordered her to come home but she claimed she had an oral exam or something. I don't think she was telling the truth." Arthur caressed the stem of his wine glass, rolling it between his forefingers, making the wine dance, leaving rich red echoes around the bowl. "I'm sorry to hear that. I really like Gwen."

"Me too."

"Is she upset?"

"Yes, very. Morgana didn't really explain why she left, I think she finds that hard."

Merlin was tempted to tell Arthur about the blonde woman, but decided somewhat churlishly that if Arthur was keeping secrets by not mentioning the whole magic thing, then he would keep a few of his own.

"It's not like Morgana," Arthur said. "She's a very kind person, normally."

"I know."

"Oh, of course you do! I keep forgetting you're Gwen's friend. Cambridge is such a small world. Well, I'm glad you've seen her good side."

Merlin remembered holding Morgana in his arms while she wept over the harm her magic had done. How he had taken the evil that surrounded her and turned it into something quiet and protective. Something that held Morgana's power safe and silent. For the future.

He remembered the feel of her magic - her true magic, neither white nor dark, just power - how it had touched his, wound around him; how for days afterwards he could taste vanilla and rosewater and smell the rich summer scent of flower meadows, even in the musty damp of November. 

"She's beautiful," he said softly, mostly to himself.

"I suppose," Arthur said, surprised. "She's my sister. I still remember when she thought it was funny to put a frog down my shirt."

Merlin laughed.

"I was three," Arthur said. "It was very traumatic."

"Poor Arthur."

"Yes. Poor Arthur indeed."

Arthur looked at him across the table, pouting. Merlin patted his hand.

"Enough about the Pendragons," Arthur said. "Tell me about your family. Any brothers or sisters?"

"Just me, Mum and Dad. Sarah and Barry." 

"That sounds idyllic."

"It's okay." 

Merlin sipped his wine, and told Arthur about Wales, and the sea and long walks with his father in the woods, and for a little while, Morgana was forgotten.

*

Eventually the world outside the window of the Fig and Grape was dark but for the street lamps, and the candle the barman had lit on their table when the sun went down was burned to the tiniest puddle of molten wax. The table bore the remnants of baskets of chicken and chips and bowls of apple crumble and custard, and a nearly-empty wine bottle that wasn't the one Merlin had fetched from the bar. He felt a bit flushed from wine and food and Arthur. They'd talked, and talked, and talked, and finally, probably because of the wine, Arthur leaned across the table and said, conspiratorially, "You know the real problem with Morgana?"

It was the first time Arthur had mentioned her since the story about the frogs, and it had come out of nowhere; Arthur had just finished telling Merlin about the time he'd got locked in the clubhouse overnight with most of his rowing team as the result of an elaborate practical joke by a visiting Oxford eight. 

"No?" Merlin said. "What?"

"She got in with a bad crowd. They got her doing stupid things."

Merlin really wished he didn't know. He wracked his brains, trying to think of a way to change the subject, but nothing would come to him. 

"Probably not what you think," Arthur continued.

"Oh?"

"Not drugs or drink, or anything like that." Arthur drained his glass and set it down on the table with a thump. "Magic."

Something about the tone of Arthur's voice made Merlin's blood run cold.

"Funny thing was, we didn't know she even had any power!" Arthur said. "Neither my mother nor my father did, and I always thought it ran in families. I think they gave it to her. Those people she fell in with when she first got here. When I was in Madad.. Magad…with the lemurs."

With a jolt Merlin realised just how little Arthur knew. He didn't know that Morgana was a seer; that she'd been having dreams since she turned thirteen; that at school she was put in a room of her own long before the other boarders, because the teachers feared what she might do in her sleep. 

Arthur didn't even realise that Morgana's mother was not his mother. 

"If I had my way," Arthur said, "They'd have locked them up and thrown away the key for what they did to her."

Merlin didn't know where to start. Whether to start. If Uther hadn't told his son the truth, he most certainly wouldn't want anyone else to. Morgana couldn't have told him either. Merlin had made promises. Signed a confidentiality agreement. But Arthur was looking at him, innocence written all over his stupid handsome face. It wasn't fair. He was waiting for Merlin to speak.

"It must have been very hard for her," Merlin said, fighting to keep the panic from his voice.

"You're shocked. I can tell. I can't say I blame you. It is shocking."

"No, I mean-"

"I was shocked. I was ashamed. Didn't want the fellows in the team to know. Didn't want anyone to know. But you're different, Merlin. I know you won't gossip."

Merlin swallowed. He watched Arthur drain the dregs of the wine bottle into his glass. 

"Sorry, man," said Arthur. "You've hardly had any of this. Shall I order another?"

"No thanks. It's your turn to get pissed and embarrass yourself," he said, glad to escape the whole web of Pendragon secrets.

"Ha! Well, I don't do this often. I know, shall we get some brandy? I really fancy a good brandy."

Merlin wrinkled his nose. "Don't like brandy."

"S'riously?"

"Seriously."

"You're a very strange man, Merlin."

"I know."

Arthur leaned in, waggling his index finger at Merlin's nose. "Hey! You're not magic too, are you? 'S that why you're strange?"

And without even thinking, on a reflex that Merlin didn't even know he had, he heard himself say: "No! Course not! No!"

Merlin felt cold. Sick. He'd never lied about his magic before. Never. He'd kept quiet about it, didn't go around announcing it, any more than he'd announce to a room full of strangers that he liked boys as well as girls, or didn't like whelks, or had got lost in Sainsbury's when he was six. But he'd never, ever, outright lied about it.

"Glad to hear it, Merlin," said Arthur, horribly jovial and approving. He even winked.

Merlin smiled weakly.

"Let's get out of here," said Arthur.

*

The cool, damp night air was a huge relief; it felt almost as if it had rained, although the sky remained resolutely cloudless. It was just the mist from the earth, the absence of sun, the victory of shadows. Merlin relished it, clung to it in the midst of a deep unease that had settled in him the instant he lied to Arthur about his magic.

Arthur was quiet, his walk a little stumbling. Every now and then he would bump into Merlin, and they'd exchange a quick, private smile. But it wasn't the simple blissful attraction Merlin had felt before. It was tainted. Complicated. Restrained.

They arrived at the door to Merlin's halls, Arthur swaying slightly. He steadied himself with a hand on Merlin's shoulder, leaned in and kissed him.

Merlin relished the kiss, every second of it. It was exactly the kiss he'd imagined when Arthur had phoned him yesterday, full and real and hot and just a little bit sloppy. It was the kind of kiss that led to clothes being ripped off and lectures being missed the following morning.

It was, he thought, the last kiss he and Arthur would ever share.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. "I'm really sorry. I have to go now."

Arthur looked at him with puppy eyes, and Merlin felt horrible inside. 

"Tomorrow?" Arthur whined.

"I've got a ton of revision. I'll call you, okay?"

Merlin gave Arthur a quick, fierce hug, and fled to his room.

*


	4. Chapter 4

The great thing about the library, apart from the books and the dark and the quiet, was that there was no mobile phone signal. Merlin was able to enjoy the solitude and peace without feeling guilty about being unreachable.

It was bliss.

Merlin had spent a great deal of time in the library over the past fortnight. He'd be waiting at the doors when they opened, and he'd leave when they shut at two in the morning. One night he even got himself locked in. He'd taken all the cushions off the window seats, built himself a nest in the Anglo-Saxon poetry section, and passed a happy night with sagas and fireside stories of gods and kings and battles.

Dragons, even.

When he wasn't revising Viking history, or learning Norse vocab, or reading manuscripts, Merlin browsed the shelves, indulging his love for obscure histories and ancient biographies. On the second Friday, just before midnight, one of the librarians came to Merlin's corner and gently reminded him it was time to go. Merlin was so engrossed that he jumped when the man approached.

"Sorry," Merlin said. "I was miles away."

"Can't have you getting locked in again, can we?"

"No," said Merlin, sheepishly.

"Found something interesting today?"

This particular librarian had spoken with Merlin before. He was an Anglo-Saxon specialist and shared Merlin's interest in personal accounts.

"'Life of King Alfred,' by the Bishop of Sherborne."

"In Latin?"

"Yeah," said Merlin, ruefully. "That's why it's taken me an hour and a half to read five pages."

"What did you think of it?"

"Fascinating. I like to imagine how it must have been for Alfred, living in a palace, dealing with the Vikings. Building castles."

"Castles, eh? I wrote my thesis on epistolary history, you know. Diaries and letters from the Renaissance. Couldn't get enough of all those lives, all those little personal details. I suppose some people might call me nosy, but it's not like that. It's just magical to me. Have you ever taken a look at the Hayley-Worthington Archive? There's some real gems in there."

"No, I've never heard of it."

"It's at the end of the east wing, third floor. You have to book out the key. You won't be disappointed, I promise. There's some fascinating old books in there, Now, I'm going to go and check the toilets. You go and get some sleep, young Merlin. Don't forget, all work and no play…"

**Library by Kironomi**

*

The following morning Merlin awoke early, as had become his habit, and he was among the first half dozen students arriving in the dining hall just as it opened. He opted for simple cereal and toast, and was just finishing the last mouthful of his breakfast when he spotted Gwaine slinking into the dining hall. Or, more importantly, Gwaine spotted him.

"Merlin!" Gwaine yelled. "So you are alive! Stay there!"

Merlin considered making a run for it, but it was possible Gwaine might never forgive him, so he stayed put and waited while Gwaine got a huge plateful of bacon, sausages, eggs and fried bread, which he plonked down unceremoniously on the table at Merlin's side, along with a very small glass of juice.

"That looks like a heart attack waiting to happen," Merlin observed.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Gwaine. "I'm a growing boy."

"You certainly will be, if you eat all that."

"Don't judge, muesli man. You've got some explaining to do."

"Me? Why?"

"It was Leon's birthday last Thursday. You said you'd come."

"No, I didn't."

"I texted you. Three times. The last one said 'text me back if you're not coming'. Did you text me back?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Well no but nothing. You were deemed to have accepted. Then you didn't turn up. I was very disappointed."

"Why?"

"Because of Arthur, you idiot, why else?"

Merlin rubbed at his forehead, as if to ease a headache. "What's Arthur got to do anything?"

Gwaine sighed deeply, and speared a large piece of sausage with his fork. He swilled it around in a pile of beans that were lurking underneath the slice of fried bread. "Leon is on Arthur's rowing team," he said. "It was Leon's birthday, and he had a party, to which you were invited at Arthur's request."

"I thought you asked me?"

"Only because Arthur thought you were avoiding him."

The sanctuary of the library suddenly seemed a long, long way away.

"You asked me out for Arthur?"

"I wouldn't put it quite like that, but I suppose so, yes," said Gwaine, around a mouthful of sausage.

"What if I didn't want to go out with Arthur?"

"You could have said no."

"How? I didn't know that's what you were asking!"

"Wait." Gwaine swallowed. "Are you pissed off with me?"

"Yes! Of course I am! You set me up on a date with someone I didn't want to see, and you didn't even tell me about it!"

Merlin must have been shouting a bit, because people were looking, and Gwaine was staring at him as if he had two heads.

"Sorry," he muttered, and pushed his cereal bowl away.

"I thought you and Arthur were all over each other," Gwaine said.

"Well, we're not."

"That might be news to him. He told Gwen he really liked you."

"Well, he shouldn't go talking about me behind my back. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

"Merlin!"

"I've got _exams_ , Gwaine," Merlin snapped.

Gwaine looked hurt and confused, and shoved another bit of sausage in his mouth.

Merlin shoved his chair back and stormed out of the dining hall.

*

 

Naturally enough, Merlin succumbed once more to the lure of the library. He was planning to find a quiet corner to settle down with some nice, distracting Norse grammar exercises, but as he came through the library doors he came face-to-face with a notice about ensuring that keys to special collections were returned promptly upon leaving the library. On impulse he found himself at the Reserved Books counter, asking for a key to the Hayley-Worthington collection. After a brief interlude during which the librarian in charge tried to convince him that keys had to be booked at least twenty-four hours in advance, forms had to be processed and protocols adhered to, whilst Merlin smiled and flirted and used his dimples (which he knew to be cute) remorselessly, he set off to the third floor of the east wing equipped with the key and a plan to the stacks in which the collection resided.

The key fitted an ornate wooden door, smooth-polished old oak engraved with leaves and flowers and a dragon at each corner. Beyond was a room full of old-fashioned bookcases in not-quite-straight rows, bearing beautiful leather-bound tomes. Merlin took a deep breath of museum-dry air and ancient parchment, and felt instantly at home. He dropped his backpack on the table in the centre of the room, and began to browse.

The collection was organised roughly by date, so instinctively he looked for things around 900 AD-ish. That was usually the start of things. But here there were three full shelves that went back even further.

Merlin knelt down to peruse the very bottom shelf first, as was his habit. He reached out to the first book, the lettering on its spine rendered illegible from use.

He felt a tingle. A fizz. A sweet, forbidden pulse of glorious magic.

Merlin pulled out the book, but there was nothing particularly special about it. He looked more closely at its neighbours on the shelf: one, two, three along from the first. He reached for the next and it all but fell into his hand.

It was heavy, truly ancient, with a battered leather binding and ornate metal clasps and corners. It was a thing of beauty.

It was a thing of _magic_. It sang to him, the quietest vibration against his skin, but unmistakably a song.

It actually felt pleased to see him.

He should put it back. He knew he should. The book shouldn’t have been here in the first place, or at least he shouldn’t have been allowed the key. Magical books held power and information for which he was not (according to the law) ready.

_Emrys._

Anyone else would have dropped the book and run.

Merlin cradled it to his chest like a treasure and suddenly, inexplicably, began to weep.

*

One day when Merlin was about ten, he was walking on the beach with Kilgharrah - well, he was walking; Kilgharrah was doing a sort of ungainly waddle, but Merlin thought it polite not to laugh - and he asked Kilgharrah about Olden Times. Kilgharrah seemed to have lived forever, and knew a lot about castles and knights, and a time when many dragons flew from tall mountain ranges in plain sight. When magic was free and nobody feared it.

So Merlin asked Kilgharrah a question, that day on the beach, "Who was the greatest warlock who ever lived?"

The great dragon stopped and eyed him with one huge, golden, lizardy eye, and answered him, with a tone of reverence and respect Merlin had never heard the dragon use before. "Emrys."

"That sounds like a Welsh name.."

Kilgharrah chuckled. "Yes, young warlock. It is. He goes by many names, but that was the name through which his magic spoke most loudly."

"Is that what you called him?"

"I could not repeat to such young ears what I called him most often."

"No, really," said Merlin, with all the tenacity of one young enough to see the world in answers. "Did you call him Emrys?"

"No, young warlock," the dragon said, softly. "But that is the name of legend, the name of power, the name feared by his enemies."

"Ooh! What enemies? Did he blast them all into tiny bits with a huge fireball? Did he?"

But Kilgharrah looked pained, and turned away.

"It’s late. I must go back to my cave, and you should go home to… whatever human boys do at this time when the sun is about to set."

"Dinner time," said Merlin, distractedly. "Kilgharrah-"

But the dragon had already turned away, and with a single flap of his wings launched into the sky, and away.

Merlin never asked him about Emrys again.

*

_Emrys._

It was obviously a spell book. Spells for love, spells for fire, spells for changing things into other things. Ageing spells. Spell after spell, all beautifully described and annotated with careful, detailed drawings. The whole book was different, alive, _real_. Real in the way that Kilgharrah felt real, and magic felt real, and the rest of the world… well, the rest of the world was real, of course it was. It just didn’t feel as real as this. This was ultra-real.

Merlin chuckled to himself, realising how insane that would have sounded had he said it aloud to another person. He made a firm mental note never to do so.

He began to turn the pages, flicking through quickly, knowing he’d be back to savour each one in detail. About half way through, the book changed from spell book to notebook. Scraps of notes and thoughts and even some (very bad) poetry, leading Merlin to believe that the author wasn’t much more than a teenager. He seemed to be a servant in a castle, who referred to his master consistently and disrespectfully as The Pratt (or TP for short). He would rant at length about the arduous nature of his duties, about the selfish arrogance of his master and how much he hated leeches. He was also prone to flights of fancy: his descriptions of daily drudgery were interspersed with tales of knightly quests, of monster-slaying and unicorns and potions - a lot of potions - and a battle against an evil tyrant. There were more mundane pages too: lists and doodles and a picture of a lake near a forest that showed quite a lot of skill for a boy who spent most of his time (apparently) polishing armour.

Merlin smiled to himself, quite fond of this ancient servant, and flicked through a few more pages.

Sometimes books fall open in a certain place through habit; sometimes through chance; sometimes, for Merlin, through magic. He couldn't say which this was. But he fumbled the book, snapped it shut as he caught it, and when it fell open again upon his lap, he saw…

Kilgharrah.

Merlin swallowed, hard. A drawing, in some kind of charcoal that had smudged the page opposite, rendering it unusable. A dragon, in a cave, glorious wings spread wide. Any dragon, a likeness, a coincidence, Merlin's own imagination imposing one dragon on another, except…

… There, underneath the drawing in clear, careful ink letters was written:

~ _Kilgharrah. The last of his kind._

And below…

_Merlin. The last Dragonlord._

Magic surged: from the book, from the room, from Merlin himself as panic rose in his throat. How had he not noticed before how very warm the room was? He focused, defied the rush of fear and adrenaline. Felt his magic. Calmed it. Soothed it. Let it fade to a distant hum.

A truth formed in the back of his mind, but he couldn't look it in the eye. Not yet. Not now.

The library bell rang to tell him it was closing time. He rose to his feet, still breathing, breathing, breathing; he left the room and locked it carefully behind him. He returned to the front desk, where he handed the key to the librarian with one of his best, most flirty smiles, turned around and left the library. He was incredibly relieved to hear no alarm.

Because for the first time in his life, and without shame, Merlin had stolen a book.

*

The corkboard on the door to his room was covered with notes, one from Gwaine - a bright pink Post-It note bearing the message 'where the fuck are you?' in big black letters, and a half dozen or so from Gwen, written politely on bits of scrap paper. But the message was much the same.

Merlin left them there, and went inside.

His room felt stuffy and brain-thickeningly warm; he opened all the windows and shoved enough books off the bed to lie down. The heat threatened to lull him to sleep, but he resisted, reciting Norse vocab in his head.

_~Hefna, avenge. Viezla, banquet. Bardagi, battle. Hjarta, heart. Konungr, king. Dreki, dragon…._

_Drakon… Dragon…~_

Merlin slept.

Merlin dreamed of a dragon in a cave. Not the shady, open cavern on a beach in Wales where he had spent so many hours with Kilgharrah. This cave was deep under the earth, tall and fathomless, with the hint of fire below and water dripping above. This cave echoed with a rattle of chains and stank of sulphur. In this cave he stood not as equal but as servant; in this cave he traded trust for knowledge, bargains for magic. In this cave, Kilgharrah wept.

Merlin stood on a ledge, waiting for the dragon to appear.

"Please! I need to talk to you."

And there the dragon was - looking like Kilgharrah but at the same time, not. His scales were burnished gold, his eyes cold as stone. He did not trust Merlin.

"What is it this time, young warlock?"

"It's Arthur! He's in terrible danger and I must save him!"

The dragon sighed heavily. "Yes, Merlin. And?"

"I don't know what to do!"

"You must do what you always do, young warlock. You must save Arthur, so that one day you can build Albion together."

"But I don't have the power! A beast is coming, with claws and teeth and magic, and I don't know how to stop it!"

"Oh, Merlin. Have you learned nothing from your time in Camelot? There is no beast you cannot slay. No power you cannot quench. Summon your strength and do what must be done, for Arthur _must_ prevail. It is your destiny."

"My destiny."

A knocking came from somewhere behind the ledge Merlin was standing on; Kilgharrah reared up and beat his magnificent wings, pushing himself up into the heights of his prison-cave.

The knocking grew louder. Merlin shrank back against the wall, afraid.

Merlin woke.

*

"Merlin, it's only me! Are you home?"

Merlin's eyes shot open. Heart racing, his foggy brain adjusted dream and reality until he felt he was truly where he was. In his room. At Cambridge. Now.

Now?

"Merlin? Are you all right?" Gwen's voice, from outside.

Merlin dragged himself off the bed, and went to answer the door.

"Hello!" Gwen said. "Are you okay? Only I heard a noise."

Merlin blinked at her. "I was asleep."

"Oh, I'm sorry! It sounded like yelling."

"Must've been snoring. D'you want some tea?"

"I'd love some. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine! That's the third time you've asked me that, you know."

"Sorry. I've been worried about you."

"No need. Just revision, you know how it is. Have you been okay?"

"Getting by."

She looked sad. Gwen was never one to dwell on things, or feel sorry for herself, but it was clear that Morgana had left a shadow behind.

"Have you seen her?"

"Once or twice, but only from a distance. Not to talk to. I emailed her to tell her she'd left some stuff behind, and she replied to tell me to give it to Arthur."

"And did you?" Merlin wished that it wasn't Arthur's name that had helped him focus, but it was.

"Yes, he came round last Tuesday. He was very apologetic. I got the feeling he doesn't much understand what Morgana's up to either. He asked about you."

"Me?" said Merlin, as innocently as possible.

"He said you'd vanished off the face of the earth. To be honest, I had to agree with him. What happened?"

"Like I said, exams." Merlin handed Gwen a mug of tea. She sat on the edge of the bed, he on the desk. "I've been in the library every day. Can't get any work done in here, it's too hot."

"We could do with some rain. Didn't you tell Arthur you'd be revising? He seemed to be expecting you to call him."

"Yes, of course I did. Anyway, he should know. He must have exams too."

"What's the matter? I thought you really liked him."

"I did, and he seemed to like me, but then it all got complicated. He's Morgana's brother, after all. It's difficult. A sort of conflict of interests."

"Really? That didn't seem to bother you before."

"I didn't know Morgana was off the rails again, before," said Merlin, casting about for a way to change the subject.

"And she is now? You're certain?"

"I don't have any proof. It's just a feeling, I suppose. But a very strong feeling."

"I know what you mean. I'm the same." There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked terribly sad.

"It might be nothing," his reassurance was heartfelt this time; he tugged Gwen close and put his arms around her. She sank gratefully into the hug, nuzzling into his shoulders. He wished he could offer her shoulders as broad as Arthur's, words as uplifting as Gwaine's. But he did his best, in that simple hug, to let her know that at least she was not alone.

*

The following day, after a long and thankfully dreamless sleep, Merlin found he had run out of clean clothes. Grateful for an ordinary, everyday task, he consigned the book to the very bottom of his only lockable desk drawer and allowed himself to believe, for a while at least, that it was full of nothing more than coincidences and projections of his own imagination. He headed off to the campus laundry, and because it was a tradition of theirs, he texted Gwaine to tell him he was going, even though he wasn't sure if Gwaine was still angry with him. He didn't reply, which worried Merlin a good deal, so he was pleasantly surprised to find Gwaine waiting outside the laundry-room.

"Did mine yesterday," Gwaine said. "But I forgot this." He opened his fist to reveal a scrunched-up bandana. "Can I put it in with yours?"

"Only if you promise it won't run and turn my underwear pink again," said Merlin.

"Deal."

And then they were friends again.

Gwaine stationed himself on a bench and watched as Merlin dumped his laundry bag next to him, and set about extracting detergent, softener and enough loose change to feed a London parking meter for a week.

"I'm going to talk to you about Arthur," said Gwaine, in a warning tone.

"Okay."

"He said you got on really well." Gwaine peered curiously into Merlin's laundry bag.

"I suppose so. Yes. Yes, we did. He's… nice."

" _Nice_ , Merlin? Really? What sort of nice? Polite nice or fuckable nice or…"

"Attractive. Fun to talk to. He bought me wine."

Merlin shoved clothes savagely into the machine while Gwaine watched him. "That's not unusual, for a date, to buy a person drinks."

Merlin muttered something about socks.

"Unless it's a gay thing?"

"What?"

"Well, I'd usually pay if I took a girl on a date. But if you're both blokes…"

"Where are you from, Gwaine, the Dark Ages?"

Of course he was. They all were.

Wait. What?

Merlin thumped the washing machine door shut and rested his forehead on the cool, cool metal of its casing.

"What happened, Merlin?" asked Gwaine, gently.

"Nothing. Nothing happened." Merlin turned his head sideways to look at Gwaine, who appeared concerned and sympathetic. "It was about to. But I stopped it."

"Why? I thought you liked him."

"I did. I _do_ like him. It's the magic thing."

"What magic thing? There's a magic thing?"

"Yeah. The thing where Arthur can't stand magic and I _am_ magic, and he's a pompous, arrogant twat."

"You're sure it's not the twat thing rather than the magic thing? Because that sounds more of an obstacle to me and Arthur can be a bit… well, he's a boatie, y'know? They're all a bit…" Gwaine puffed his chest up and stuck his nose in the air.

"No. That's not it. I thought… well, it doesn't matter what I thought. Except he hates me for who I am and he doesn't even _know_ who I am, and I need to put that right, which will probably make everything worse."

There was a pause before Gwaine said, "I'm not even going to try to make sense of any of that."

Merlin sighed. He fed the washing machine its change and punched a few buttons, stabbing brutally at the control panel with his index finger. The washing machine gave a shudder of complaint and jerked into life.

"I lied," Merlin said. "For the first time in my whole fucking life, I lied about having magic. I don't want to be with someone who makes me a liar."

"Well, technically, it was you doing the lying. Unless there was some kind of coercion involved?"

Merlin shook his head. "He assumed. I let him assume. I enabled the assuming. Because if I hadn't, he would have put an end to things right there and then, and at least this way I get to say it's over."

"Except, you haven't, really, have you?"

"Haven't what?"

"Told him. He just thinks you're busy."

Merlin sighed heavily. "I thought he might have got the message."

"Well, I don't think he has. It probably never even occurred to him."

"Arrogant twat."

"I don't suppose he gets turned down that often."

"I should tell him. I should find him and tell him that I have magic, and his father hired me to help his sister and therefore, all things considered, what with him being an anti-magic bigot and his sister relapsing all over the place, that's it. So long and thanks for the Pinot Noir."

There was a worried little frown on Gwaine's face, but he clasped Merlin's shoulder and sounded reassuring when he said, "If that's what you want, mate. Whatever you need to do. It'll be okay."

"Yes," said Merlin, slumping miserably on the bench in front of the washing machine. "But that doesn't make it easy."

Gwaine sat wordlessly beside him, and together they watched the jumble of clothes go round and around and around.

*


	5. Chapter 5

After laundry and lunch with Gwaine, Merlin went back to his room, allegedly to study. But he'd had a couple of pints at lunchtime (Gwaine was such a bad influence), and the warmth of his room claimed him almost as soon as he lay on the bed to rest his eyes.

When he woke the light was golden, gentle, the slanting rays of late afternoon. And he was hungry. 

Merlin investigated the contents of his food cupboard, but there was only a small tin of baked beans and some cream crackers that were so old they had gone bendy. So he shoved his books into his rucksack, hesitating several times before finally putting the spell book in there too, and resigned himself to a side trip to the dining hall.

Thankfully he managed to get all the way through his chicken pie and chips without running into anyone who knew him, and had almost cleared his bowl of apple crumble and custard too, but just as he was scraping the last delicious crunchy bits of crumble from the sides of his bowl, he felt Morgana.

Felt before he saw, because she was radiating magic like a beacon. She was drenched in it. 

And it was dark.

She strode into the room, arm in arm with the woman he and Gwaine had seen her with before. They shared the magic; it made their skin pale, their energy cold and black. Merlin looked around but of course, no-one else noticed anything other than two stunning young women walking towards the serving hatch. Even those with ordinary magic wouldn't notice anything.

But Merlin had a gift for these things. 

He could pinpoint the exact moment Morgana noticed him. Their eyes locked, and her face stilled. Just for a split second, he felt a connection with her, a recognition of the struggle they'd shared six months ago. And then she blinked and looked away and it was gone. She was talking to her friend again, all smiles and giggles.

Merlin felt cold to the core. He stood up slowly, methodically stacked his plates and picked up his bag. He left the dining hall at a measured walk, fighting the urge to run. 

Once outside he leaned against the wall of the building and closed his eyes.

"Merlin?"

Arthur? Merlin opened his eyes and sure enough, there was Arthur. Tall and beautiful, the sun casting his hair in a surreal golden glow.

"Hi," he said.

"Where have you been?"

"Having dinner."

"No, I mean, generally. Gwaine didn't seem to know."

"Oh, you know, here and there. Revising, mostly. Morgana's inside."

"What? Oh, I think there's some sort of kitchen failure in her college, Leon's friend said-"

"She doesn't look well, Arthur. I think you should talk to her."

Arthur frowned, apparently baffled.

"I have to go," said Merlin, because standing there talking to Arthur when he was looking so lovely and confused and noble was just too much for him to bear. _He hates magic,_ Merlin reminded himself. _It's pointless._

"Wait," said Arthur. But Merlin couldn't wait. Didn't dare. _He hates magic and his sister's running wild with it and I can't lie, I won't, I won't, I won't._

"Bye," said Merlin. "Late."

And he ran.

*

There was only one place to go after that. The library welcomed him with open doors; it swiftly hid him within its winding corridors and complex stacking systems and distant nooks and crannies. Merlin found a spot way back in Norse Mythology and sat on a window seat, panting for breath.

He closed his eyes for a moment, pushing Arthur and Morgana out of his mind. His fingers closed around the spell book in his bag. Dangerous. Unnerving. Eldritch. 

It called to him. 

He pulled the book out, let it fall open where it would, and began to read.

This time, he didn't stop.

*

Merlin had been walking for hours. He didn't know how long. It was dark. Long past midnight. The pubs had been closed and streets of Cambridge quiet when he'd left the city. The air was still hot, his shirt clinging to his damp skin, and he longed for the sea. Cooling waves, cooling breeze, soft sand beneath his feet. Instead he walked on hard roads and across dusty fields, the air stifling and humid.

Things kept coming back to him. Dreams. Stories. Memories that didn't belong to him, but felt as real as his first day at Cambridge or his mother's face. He resisted them with every breath, every heartbeat. He knew that the moment he looked this full in the face, he'd be lost. He'd never be the same. His whole life was a lie. 

He kept walking. He walked until the flat land gave way to the high ground, the Gog Magog Hills, where he could feel history beneath his feet and magic sleeping. 

Merlin stood on the hill of giants, letting the reality of what he was about to do sink in. He knew, deep down, that he had enormous power. He had always had enormous power. The world wasn't the same for him as it was for other people: he could call down lightning, create a ball of fire out of nothing, slow down time to a single second. But he didn't. Day after day, he didn't. He lived the same ordinary, small, quiet life as his friends, and he pushed his power down as he'd been taught. 

It was a tight, keen line that he'd drawn. Control hadn't come cheap. 

It felt almost impossible to let it go. 

What if he could never get it back? What if he was lost in magic forever? 

He shook his head. What did it matter, if everything, the whole world he lived in, was a lie?

Terrified and alone, Merlin looked up to the stars and called out. 

_~O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes! Erkheo~_

The words rang in the sky, as old as the earth.

Merlin shivered in the heat, and waited.

*

_~Merlin.~_

Merlin blinked open his eyes. He must have fallen asleep. It was still dark. 

_~Emrys.~_

It was a voice as old as time, but not the voice he'd expected. Merlin turned around and found a dragon, sure enough. But not Kilgharrah. This dragon was smaller, with a rounder head and smoother scales. It was white as snow.

"Aithusa," he said.

"Emrys."

"I was expecting Kilgharrah." 

"You did not call him by name, and he is a long way from here, Emrys. He could not fly so far in a single night. He asked me to come. He felt your distress."

"You can _talk_."

The scales around the dragon's head ridge furrowed, giving him a puzzled look. "Of course I can."

"I thought… I used to think… I mean, I wrote…." Merlin rubbed his forehead; it was all so confusing and surreal. Perhaps he was dreaming? Perhaps it was easiest to believe he was. "You were mute."

"I was young," the dragon said. "Talking in this way does not come naturally to dragons. It must be taught."

"Morgana didn't teach you?"

"How could she? She was not a dragon. Or a dragon lord." The dragon bowed his head in respect, the gesture sending a tingle down Merlin's spine.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Merlin felt ashamed the moment the words were out of his mouth; there was no question of loyalty here. Aithusa had just made that plain. But somehow, Merlin had to be certain. Ancient betrayal and despair gnawed at him.

Aithusa shuffled closer, clumsier than Kilgharrah on land, one leg still bearing the damage of a distant age. Merlin reached out his hand and touched the dragon's nose, like he touched Kilgharrah when they met; a gentle, intimate greeting between dragon lord and dragon.

Aithusa made a little crooning noise, and leaned into Merlin's touch.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. "I shouldn't have doubted you."

"You are hurt and afraid," Aithusa said. "This I know too well."

"I'm fine."

"You are leaking from the eyes. Kilgharrah warned me of this."

"Leaking from the… oh!" A touch of his cheek showed Merlin he was crying. "Didn't Morgana ever cry?"

"No."

Merlin remembered Morgana's face on the battlefield at Camlan, pure white anger and hatred. He remembered her face the night he saved her from her own magic, fear and desperation.

He choked down a sob, the rending and melding of worlds too much, far too much.

"This seems difficult for you," Aithusa said.

"It's true, isn't it?" Merlin said. "I'm an ancient wizard, and a long time ago, or in a different dimension or something I rescued your egg, and I helped you to hatch and I named you. Is it? Is it true?"

"It is."

"I lived in a place called Camelot and I was the king's servant, and I looked after him and loved him and we were… we were… and he died. And I waited for him to come back, I waited and waited and waited until I couldn't bear it any more, until I felt so alone it threatened to drive me mad, and everyone was dead and still he wouldn't come back, and I cast a spell. I cast a spell to be with everyone I loved in Camelot, and I meant to die, I think, or even to live with the company of ghosts and shadows if I must. But instead I came here, to this place or time or whatever the fuck it is, and I'm not dead but Arthur's _alive_ , and I got my wish, but how can that be? How can any of it be real? I don't understand!"

"Emrys-"

"Merlin!" Merlin realised he was shouting; tears streamed down his cheeks, his stomach was knotted tight. "My name's Merlin!"

"Merlin," Aithusa said, voice so soft and sad it could have been Kilgharrah himself speaking. "I do not have the answers you seek."

"There's a surprise," Merlin said, bitterly. "A dragon who can't tell you what you need to know."

"We are not gods. Just creatures of magic, like you. We see much, but no-one can fully understand the destiny of another."

"I don't care about my destiny. I just want to know who I am. Where I am. When I am."

"And you will. Kilgharrah will meet you here, on this very hill, on the third night from this one, and he will help you to find the answers you seek. In the meantime, he asks that you seek comfort from those you have come close to in this world. Those who have always sought to protect and care for you."

"You mean Gwen? Gwaine? They'll think I've cracked up. I can hear Gwen now, patting me on the arm and talking about exam stress as she leads me off to the Medical Centre."

"If they are true friends, perhaps they do not need to know the cause of your distress to care for you."

The dragon regarded him steadily. His eyes might not have been heavy with the wisdom of ages like Kilgharrah's were, but there was still a gravitas, a timeless authority in their golden depths that made Merlin feel less lost. Less afraid. Less alone.

"Everything's different," Merlin said. "I was happy. I was just an ordinary student who happened to have magic, with lectures to go to and exams to take, and friends to get drunk with. Now everything's raw and painful and different and I don't understand. Why did I have to find that book?"

"Usually when a warlock finds a thing, it is because it is that thing's time to be found. Whether it be a book of spells or a dragon's egg. As Kilgharrah would say, it is destiny."

"Destiny sucks," Merlin said.

"Yes, my Lord," Aithusa replied. "Sometimes it does."

Merlin took a deep breath and looked around. The world still looked real enough. The ground was solid beneath his feet; the air filled his lungs and brushed his skin. Birds in the nearby trees were beginning to sing, and the first light of the day was streaking the horizon deep pink and grey.

"You should go," he told Aithusa. "It's getting light. Where do you live?"

"In the depths of the earth, the veins of the land, in the skies and the trees and the water. I bid you farewell for now. Be safe, my Lord."

Aithusa wheeled around and took off with a few heavy beats of his wings, quickly soaring up towards the fading dark. Merlin watched the dragon until it was nothing more than a tiny speck, lost among the dimming stars.

"Merlin," he murmured. "Call me Merlin."

*

Merlin arrived back at Trinity to find a couple sitting on the lawn outside Wolfson. They were holding hands, snuggled up close. Her shoes were discarded on the dewy grass; he wore black trousers and a white dress shirt, his jacket around her shoulders, protecting her from the chill of the morning. She was smiling. His fingers wound through her hair, whatever chic style it had held the night before now abandoned in favour of a tangled cascade down her back.

Twelve hours ago they would have made a stunning couple, dressed to the nines for a function promising undergraduate excess and a taste of the life enjoyed by the young and rich and privileged. 

Now they just looked young, and happy, and in love.

Feeling older than time itself, Merlin quietly let himself into the building, and went up to his room. He threw himself on his bed and slept.

He dreamed. 

There was a big bed, a four poster with curtains pulled back neatly to their poles. Pillows everywhere, enough to make a fort out of, propping Merlin up as he lay naked, happy, content.

"Merlin, you really don't get it, do you?" Arthur threw a cushion at Merlin's head and hit him square on the nose. "It's not about the violence."

"Fine," Merlin said. "So why do you and the knights train all day to get better at knocking people senseless, or cutting their heads off or piercing internal organs?"

"In the fervent hope that we'll never have to do it for real."

"You're a liar. You love fighting. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself if you couldn't go and smack someone around on the training ground."

"Is that so?" Arthur's smile was playful, mischievous.

"You'd get fat."

"You don't think I'd find some other way to expend all this pent up energy?"

The most exquisite of shivers ran down Merlin's spine, and it took a world of effort to keep any kind of restraint at all. "Like what?"

"Like this," said Arthur, and pounced. 

Merlin laughed and wriggled and made Arthur chase him across the bed, only he misjudged things and fell on the floor, half-laughing and half-moaning at the sudden impact of cold stone on his back. Arthur peered over the edge of the bed at him, concerned for the instant it took for him to check Merlin was okay. Then he started pelting him with pillows.

Merlin scrambled back on the bed and they wrestled - well, Arthur wrestled, Merlin let him - but it wasn't long before Merlin was pinned happily on his back by the weight of Arthur's strong body ranged on top of him, Arthur gripping Merlin's hands lightly by the wrists. Arthur kissed him, impossibly soft, intoxicating. All pretence of fight forgotten, Arthur offered no resistance when Merlin rolled them over. He welcomed Merlin's wet, lazy kiss with a deep groan, and slid his hands over Merlin's skin, pausing here and there to squeeze with trembling fingers: his shoulder, his backside, his hip. Merlin tossed his head back, panting for breath, and let the feeling of Arthur's touch sink into him; relished the growing excitement and thought-stealing pleasure. 

"Arthur…."

Arthur made a smug little noise and nibbled on Merlin's ear as he reached for the oil. He used it to coat his own stiff, proud cock first, and then Merlin's, before tipping a substantial puddle of the stuff onto Merlin's belly. Then he lowered himself down and began to move, everything slick and hot and tantalising not-quite-hard-enough pressure, making Merlin wrap his legs tight around Arthur's hips to bring them closer together. His cock slid alongside Arthur's, sweet, teasing friction, until Arthur finally lost his patience, wrapped them both in his large, firm hand and began to stroke. The sensations shifted in an instant from not-quite to fucking-brilliant, and before he knew it, Merlin was yelling and spurting white, sticky come all over Arthur's cock and hand and oh fuck, so good, so good, so good….

Later. Much later. Arthur had come too (on Merlin's face, which stunned them both) and Merlin had rediscovered enough brains and energy to wash them both down with a damp cloth, and they'd crawled under the covers together. It was the first time Merlin had been actually in Arthur's bed when they weren't having sex, but every time he made a move to leave Arthur flailed out an arm and stopped him. So he settled down and, after a little while, snuggled up close to Arthur's side and let his head rest on Arthur's magnificent, broad shoulder. To his astonishment, Arthur kissed the top of his head.

"Thanks, Merlin," Arthur said. Then he took a few deep breaths, and began to snore. 

Merlin nuzzled into Arthur's sword arm, ignoring the crick in his neck, and breathed in the smell of him; clean skin with the faintest hint of sweat and steel, and the deep, inexplicable essence of Arthur himself.

"You were born to fight, Arthur," he murmured. "And I was born to serve you."

*

It was sunny. A faint breeze ruffled the curtain through the open window, skimming the papers on Merlin's desk. Outside there were footsteps and voices, students going to lectures, to tutorials, to exams. There were birds singing, and somewhere in the distance, the less than idyllic shriek of a car alarm.

Merlin went to the bathroom and showered. Brushed his teeth. Shaved. He watched his own face in the mirror; a clean, crisp reflection. The same blue eyes, same dark hair threatening to curl around his ears. 

_You have the most extraordinary ears, Merlin. It reminds me of the barn in the lower field when its doors have been left open._

Merlin screwed his eyes up tight and gripped the edge of the sink. 

Breathed.

He got dressed - loose brown trousers, blue t-shirt, thin brown leather belt. _You always wear the same clothes, Merlin. Anyone would think I don't pay you enough._ He picked up his wallet, his phone, his keys. _It's the key to the armoury, Merlin. You spend enough time in there, you may as well have one of your own._ He looked at his bag, cast forlornly on the floor at the foot of the bed. _I suppose you'd better collect some herbs for Gaius, or people will wonder what we've been doing out here all day._

There was a knock at the door. His door. Now-door. It swung open and Gwaine stood there, tossing his hair out of his eyes and grinning at him. 

Then-Gwaine. Now-Gwaine. _His_ Gwaine.

"Morning!" said Gwaine. "Coming for breakfast?"

Merlin's stomach growled, right on cue. "Guess so," said Merlin. 

"You okay? You look a bit… peaky."

"Didn't get much sleep."

"Ah, sorry, Man. Get a nap later, eh?"

It was his Gwaine, kind and brave and handsome and here and _not dead_. Merlin flung his arms around him and hugged him tight, not caring when Gwaine made a strangled sort of noise and flailed a bit. Soon enough he put one firm arm around Merlin's shoulder and squeezed in his determinedly manly way, and Merlin felt more comforted and happy than he had in… in….

Tears welled up, but he blinked them away. 

"You're a great friend, Gwaine," he said. "Thank you."

"Okay, man, if you say so. Come on. Toast'll be getting soggy."

"I think it _starts_ soggy." 

That got a chuckle out of Gwaine. Merlin took in every detail: the lopsided grin, the sparkle in his eyes; even his hair seemed ultra-shiny.

Merlin revelled in it all.  
*

 

Gwaine chattered his way through breakfast, telling Merlin about Percival and Leon, and some ball they were all going to in a couple of weeks' time. 

"If you want to come, I'm sure it could be arranged," said Gwaine.

"Sure," said Merlin, because it all seemed irrelevant, somehow. He couldn't imagine anything happening two weeks from now. 

"Really? I was expecting to have a whole argument about elitism and money and whether certain hunky rowers were going to be there. Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"I owe you one," said Merlin. "I was a bit of an idiot over the Arthur thing, wasn't I? Seems pointless now."

"I don't know. It's tough, if he's going to be an arse about your magic. I get that."

"But I should have trusted him."

"Not necessarily. You haven't known him that long, really, and you've no way of knowing he'd accept you, have you? It would be bloody hard to take if he didn't. I mean, you seem to like the guy a lot."

Merlin's mind was flooded with memories. He could smell rich, peaty woodsmoke; he could hear the fire crackle; feel the cold night air on his skin. 

_"I don't want you to change. I want you to always be you."_

"I didn't change," Merlin said. "I was me until that's all there was, until I couldn't stand it any more, and you didn't fucking come back."

"Mate?"

Merlin blinked. Gwaine had hold of his arm. He looked really worried.

"Gwaine…"

His voice came out trembling and thin. He was crying. 

"Merlin, mate, let me get you back to your room, eh? You've been working way too hard. You need to rest."

"I should have given him the benefit of the doubt."

"Who?"

Merlin shook his head: he could still hear the campfire crackling, could still see the pain in Arthur's eyes. The blood on his armour that wouldn't stop coming.

"Merlin? You're not making any sense. Come on. We could call in at the Health Centre. They'll give you something to help you sleep. You'll be right as rain."

"Gaius," said Merlin. "Take me to Gaius." The memories had faded now; he felt quiet, numb. A tear dropped onto Gwaine's arm, and he watched it seep into his skin, nestling among the hairs and fading into his pores.

"That guy you see about magic stuff?"

"Yes. Metaphysical Arts. Top Floor. Can you get me there? Only my brain's kind of… fuzzy."

"Course I can," said Gwaine. "Let's go."

*

Gaius took one look at Merlin and ushered them both inside. Merlin listened while Gwaine told Gaius how Merlin had been working too hard, and stressing about exams, and didn't know how to look after himself, and then-

Gwaine was in his bed. In Camelot. Chest bare, cocky grin, telling him about his father. Asking Merlin about his father. Balinor. His father was dead. 

_"Dead or alive, real or imagined, Past or present, these things are of no consequence. All that matters is that you heed the words of your father who loves you."_

Balinor. 

_"Merlin, you are more than a son of your father. You are a son of the earth, the sea, the sky. Magic is the fabric of this world and you are born of that magic. You are magic itself. You cannot  lose what you are. Believe, Merlin. Believe what your heart knows to be true.  That you always have been, and always will be."_

Father.

_"We named you after a legend. After the mightiest warlock who ever lived. Merlin was born of magic."_

Father?

_There are no goodbyes, son. For I will always be. As you will always be._

"Merlin?"

This time it was Gaius's face he saw when the memory faded. 

He was lying flat on a bench at the back of Gaius's lab, where the boxes of broken test tubes and beakers and pipettes waited for some distant date in the future when they might be recycled. A rolled-up towel supported his head, and he was covered with a lab coat.

"Here," Gaius said, offering him a small cup full of foul-smelling liquid. "Drink this."

Merlin took the cup from him and gulped it down in one go, grimacing at the taste (bathwater) and again at the aftertaste (cabbage with a hint of bleach). 

"I sent Gwaine to his lectures," Gaius said. "He was very worried about you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Gaius patted his hand. "I doubt you have anything to be sorry about. Lie there and rest for a moment. I'll get you some water."

"Wait," said Merlin. "My bag."

"It's right here."

"There's a book in it. An old book. A magic book. Read it… please. Now."

"Now?"

Merlin felt completely weary; he could barely lift his head from its towel-pillow. "Pl-please. Read it. 's true."

Gaius was saying something else, but Merlin couldn't hear him any more; dreams claimed him and he found himself once more in Camelot. He was sick and poisoned and Arthur was trying to save him.

"The light, Arthur. Just follow the light."

His light.

Follow the light.

Arthur.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB I used direct quotes from Balinor's advice to Merlin in the Crystal Cave, Ep 5.12 Diamond of the Day Pt1.


	6. Chapter 6

The next time he woke, Merlin felt better. Gaius's lab looked solid and real. Perhaps he'd finally left the dreams behind. 

His arm stung: there was a small plaster on the inside of his forearm. 

"I've had to quiet things down a bit," Gaius said. "Your magic was going a bit wild."

Merlin sat bolt upright in a panic. "Did I hurt anyone? Oh God, I'm sorry!"

"Don't worry, young man. You didn't do anything. I haven't been a magician's mentor for all these years without learning how to sort out the odd flare-up. How do you feel?"

"Better. Much better."

"This is quite a read." Gaius lay the book at Merlin's side. 

"It's true," said Merlin. "All of it."

"I know."

"What?"

Gaius folded his hands in his lap, cool as a cucumber. "Just before you came up to Cambridge, I had a visitor. He talked with me for some time, and I came to understand that the world was not the way I had thought it to be."

"Who was he?"

"He was a dragon. Friend of yours, I believe."

"Kilgharrah?"

Gaius nodded. "Apparently we had an acquaintance back in the old times, although I have no recollection of it, of course. That is to say, I didn't, at that point."

"Wait, Gaius! You _remember_?"

"Kilgharrah wanted to make sure there was at least one person here who was aware of who you were. He protected you for many years, and he wasn't ready to let you loose in the world all alone. So he gave me the gift of my old memories, so I would understand."

"You remember our old life? Camelot? Arthur?"

"As much as an old man can remember anything, yes," said Gaius, with a wink.

"I'm not going mad?"

"No more than the rest of us."

"I really did it, then? Created a whole world just so I wouldn't be lonely?"

"So it would seem. Of course, I wasn't around when you made that decision."

"No." Merlin swallowed down remembered grief. It had been winter when Gaius died. He was so old his skin was the colour and texture of an old book-binding. Gwen had worn black, and cried, and held Merlin in her arms as he fell apart.

"I worried for you," said Gaius, softly. "I remember that. To know that you would continue to live, when all of us were long gone…"

"Don't," Merlin said. 

"It is a testament to your faith in Arthur's return that you did not do anything earlier."

"But eventually I did. I let him down."

"No, Merlin. Surely not."

"I'm here, aren't I? I've got everything I wanted, even Arthur. But this isn't how it's supposed to be! It's not real, is it? It's just something I've created, like an illusion. What happens if the magic breaks? Will everyone just disappear? Will they die all over again? Gaius, I…" Merlin sniffed back tears, rubbing his face with the back of his hand. "I'm so sorry."

"Is it really so bad?" Gaius said. "It doesn't feel like an illusion to me. I've lived twice, Merlin. I've had a chance to experience all the wonders of the modern world. I don't blame you for that. I _thank_ you for it. And so would the others, if they knew, I'm sure."

"Even Arthur?"

"Eventually, yes. Why not?"

"Because he was supposed to return from Avalon, not be re-incarnated into the twenty-first century! He should be a king, not an ecologist with a lemur obsession!"

Gaius couldn't argue with that. He patted Merlin's hand. "Try and get some rest. Perhaps a few days in Wales is in order? Kilgharrah can tell you more, perhaps."

"No need. He's coming here in a couple of days. I called him."

"Is that really safe?"

"I don't have a choice. I can't leave Cambridge, Gaius, not now. There's too much going on, with Morgana - and it's the same bracelet and it's Morgause she left Gwen for, and what if it's all going to happen again?"

"Merlin, take a deep breath. Think about it. You helped Morgana. You know her magic. These are very different times indeed. What reason has she got to hurt Arthur?"

"She had no reason last time. Didn't stop her. And her magic, Gaius, it's so dark and thick and she's drowning it. And she doesn't care."

"That is worrying indeed," said Gaius. "You do realise that I should report her to the authorities?"

"Don't. Not yet. Not until I've had a chance to work out what's going on. Please?"

"All right. But don't do anything stupid, Merlin. Promise?"

"I'll try," said Merlin. 

"You'd better make sure you do. I made a promise to a dragon I'd take care of you, and I wouldn't want to be explaining to him if you go and get yourself hurt."

"All right, then," said Merlin. "I'll be careful."

"Are you going to tell anyone else what happened? Gwen or Gwaine?"

"No. Not yet. I wouldn't know where to start, for one thing, and for another… I need to ask Kilgharrah some questions first. Besides, what if they don't believe me? I wouldn't be the first student who started having delusions and hallucinations during finals. One mention of dragons and castles and I'd get locked up!"

"That's a fair point, I suppose."

"The funny thing is, I don't even remember what I did. I remember writing the spell, and gathering ingredients. I took one last walk around Avalon, took one last look in case Arthur was there, walking out of the water, perhaps, alive, Excalibur in his hand. He wasn't. So I went to the Stones of Nemeton, where the dead could be called, and I stood there with the Horn of Cathbad in one hand and my staff in the other…. And that's the last thing I remember."

Gaius passed him a tissue and Merlin blew his nose, dried his tears. He yawned, suddenly feeling exhausted, as if he'd run a marathon and the endorphins were just wearing off.

"Your talents are unprecedented, Merlin. Who knows how the magic worked. All we know is that it did, and here we are. And don't forget, Merlin, Arthur's alive. You have everything you wished for. Is that really so terrible?"

"No, but…. I…." Merlin yawned again. "I don't understand."

"You will in time, I'm sure. Come. You should go back to your room and rest. Let it all sink in a bit."

" 'kay," said Merlin, with another yawn. "Thanks, Gaius."

"It's a pleasure, my boy."

Gaius smiled a smile so familiar, so warm and full of affection that Merlin almost felt at home.

*

It turned out that perhaps he really had been bit tired. He left Gaius's with a bottle of medicine, one dose of which knocked him out for the rest of that day and the whole of the following night, giving him a deep, dreamless sleep. When he woke he felt refreshed and alert in a way he hadn't for weeks. His magic was no longer wild, soothed to its usual calm strength deep inside. 

For the first time since he read his old notebook Merlin could put the old world and the new world into one, and it didn't make him feel like he was tearing apart. 

_Arthur is alive._

Merlin's face broke into an enormous grin, and he leapt out of bed and into the shower. 

There may even have been singing.

By the time Merlin was showered and dressed breakfast was almost over and he was _starving_ , so he all but ran to the dining hall, and just made it through the doors before they stopped serving. He piled his plate with eggs and bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms and toast, and found himself a quiet spot at the end of an empty table. He wolfed down half his breakfast, then as his mind recovered from the hunger pangs, he got out his phone and tapped quickly on the screen.

_~Want to meet you. Soon. Where are you?~_

And then, as an afterthought, he sent another message.

_~This is Merlin, by the way.~_

He took a gulp of tea and settled to enjoy the rest of his breakfast, one eye on his phone. He'd just scraped up the last puddles of egg and tomato with his last piece of toast when his phone beeped.

_~Coffee Shop at 10.30 soon enough for you?.~_

Merlin swiftly texted back. _~Just about~_

He had butterflies already.

Or maybe it was too much bacon.

*

He reached the Coffee Shop at twenty past, and paced up and down in front of it a few times before settling on a bench opposite. He closed his eyes, felt the quiet thrum of his magic and tried to clear his mind.

He heard footsteps.

He looked.

He grinned.

"Arthur!"

Merlin got to his feet and closed the last few feet between them in a second, flinging his arms around Arthur and burying his face in his neck. This wasn't simply the gorgeous Fitzwilliam rower he'd been avoiding for the past few days. Not any more.

This was his King. This was the Arthur who'd died in his arms seven hundred years ago. And he was alive.

"Well, hello, Merlin. It's nice to see you, too."

Arthur sounded a bit bemused, but his arms were secure and firm around Merlin's body just the same. 

"You're back," Merlin whispered into strands of sun-gold hair.

"Actually, I never went away. Merlin, are you okay?"

Merlin pulled back just far enough to focus on Arthur's face. He looked amazing. Gorgeous. Happy, if a little confused.

"Never better," said Merlin. "It's good to see you, that's all."

"The feeling's mutual. It feels like far too long."

Merlin couldn't help but laugh. "You have no idea."

"Let's make up for lost time, then. Shall we get some coffee?"

"If you don't mind…." Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, the urge to just feel Arthur _here_ and _real_ and _alive_ so strong. "Could we go back to yours? There's too many people in the Coffee Shop. I'd like some privacy."

"Of course. Are you sure there's nothing wrong?"

"No more than usual," said Merlin, cheerfully. "Come on. Let's go."

*

Arthur unlocked his door and shouldered it open, leading Merlin inside. "What d'you want to drink? Tea? Coffee? Juice?"

"Tea, please. Tea would be good."

He waited while Arthur went to the kitchenette, taking in enough of his surroundings - high bookcases, big desk, huge double bed - to realise that this was the biggest set of rooms he'd yet come across in the whole university. It felt completely right for Arthur. The desk was set in a window alcove. A deep red bedspread was cast across the unmade bed.

"You saved me this morning," Arthur said. "I'm supposed to be writing an essay on environmental degradation and the Kyoto agreement. Can't think of anything more dull. Or infuriating." Arthur set about making tea and Merlin watched him, unable to take his eyes off Arthur's hair, cheekbones, mouth. "Sugar?"

"Three, thanks," said Merlin.

Arthur scooped sugar into a mug without comment. To Merlin's surprise Arthur made tea in an honest-to-goodness teapot. It was sturdy white china, while the mugs were garish orange with 'carry on and keep rowing' on them in white. Arthur got a carton of milk from the fridge and put everything on a tray - a tray! - with a packet of biscuits. Merlin had to suppress a grin. It was a very long way from the days when Arthur could barely find his own socks in the morning.

"Sorry there's only the bed to sit on," Arthur said. "And I need to do some laundry. Never seem to get around to it." And that's when Merlin noticed that for all that Arthur's rooms were huge, they were also a bit of a tip.

He found that oddly reassuring.

Merlin perched on the edge of the bed and took the mug Arthur offered him. 

"So, Merlin." Arthur sat down beside him; the bed bounced. "How's things?"

Arthur's perfectly ordinary question was so bizarre, in the light of all that had happened in the past week, that a hint of the hysteria that had taken Merlin to Gaius surged back through his mind. He calmed his magic, and focused on Arthur's face. Arthur's beautiful, precious face.

"Interesting," he said.

"Really? I thought you were revising."

"Yes. Well. Arthur, there's something I have to tell you. I-"

There was a knock at the door.

"Sorry," said Arthur. "Mind if I get that?"

Merlin waved him off to the door with a smile, despite the butterflies that were going into overdrive in his belly. It turned out to be one of Arthur's rowing friends at the door; there was a lot of manly banter and discussion of practice rotas and various rowing terms Merlin didn't understand. Feeling suddenly awkward sitting alone on Arthur's bed he got up, and absentmindedly began to tidy the discarded clothes from Arthur's floor, assembling them in one heap in the corner.

Eventually the door shut again, and Arthur returned, and bounced back onto the bed. "Sorry about that. New guy on the team, shuffling things around… Merlin, what are you doing?"

Merlin looked down at the sweaty rowing top in his hands, and grinned sheepishly. "Tidying up?"

"So it would seem."

"Sorry. Force of habit."

Arthur gave him a strange look. "You were going to say something. Before the door."

"Yes." Merlin tossed the top onto the laundry pile, and joined Arthur back on the bed. He picked up his mug and fiddled with the handle.

Arthur waited, one eyebrow cocked, while Merlin gathered all his courage and a deep breath, then said, "I have magic."

"Oh." Arthur looked genuinely surprised. 

"Hm," said Merlin, and sipped at his tea, wishing his face wasn't flushed and his fingers weren't trembling. 

"Oh," said Arthur again, in a moment of realisation. "Is that why you've been avoiding me? Because of what I said that night at the Grape and Fig? God, I'm so sorry."

The apology came so swiftly, so genuinely, that it took Merlin by surprise. "'S okay. You didn't know," said Merlin, generously. 

"Yeah, but I shouldn't have…. I was really drunk, though. You're really a wizard?" 

Merlin bristled. "The term's _warlock_ , thank you very much. I'm not Harry fucking Potter."

Arthur laughed, abruptly, and Merlin grinned back. He remembered that laugh so acutely; the unrestrained, wholehearted bark of it. 

"Can we start again?" Arthur said. 

Arthur was looking at him so earnestly that Merlin felt a pull like the magnetic core of the earth, and said, "Okay."

"I want to explain. I wasn't completely honest with you the other day."

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. I don't want you thinking I'm some kind of anti-magic fascist; it's not like that. My father hated magic, for as long as I can remember. He's always campaigned against it, so I suppose that made me wary. But that's not all - he believes in lots of things I don't, after all. The thing is, I once went out with a girl who had magic. We met at this dance thing that my school and her school did for fifth formers just after GCSEs. She was sweet. I didn't know about her magic at first. But then one weekend, not long after we started dating, we went to this music festival near the village where she lived. Out Gloucestershire way. We were camping, and the first night it got chilly and we decided to light a fire. Only it had been raining, and the wood was damp. I was sitting there on this log, and she was striking matches and then she gave me this look, and winked and put her finger to her lips, and went 'shhhh', and then her eyes went sort of gold, and she said something I didn't catch and the logs caught fire. Just like that."

"And you were shocked? Because she was too young?"

"Yeah, a bit, but it was more than that. It terrified me, Merlin. Not because I thought she was going to do something dangerous, or that we'd get caught… it was deeper than that. This awful feeling, deep inside, like it was the worst taboo in the world, like the feeling you get after a nightmare. I can't explain it. I just got really angry, and she was upset, and I stormed off and left her there with the money to get a taxi home. I never saw her again."

"Oh, Arthur," said Merlin.

"It was so fucking cowardly. Of course, gossip spreads like wildfire around public schools, so when I got back in September everyone knew and there was this big thing about how I ran away because I was scared of magic. Thank God I was popular, so it didn't last long. Died down to a sort of in-joke, but still. That kind of thing stays with you."

"Arthur."

"It was so weird. Then when Morgana started using magic, I freaked out all over again. And I thought, well, this is why. I was right all along, magic is evil. It destroys people."

"Arthur, I need you to take a deep breath, and watch."

Arthur took a deep breath, and watched.

Merlin reached out one hand, closed into a loose fist, and whispered. Heat flickered through him; he blinked his eyes closed to cover the gold.

He uncurled his fingers, and a flame-formed golden bamboo lemur flew from his hand. Arthur stared in total and gratifying astonishment.

"That's a-"

"Do you like it?" Merlin was surprised at just how much it mattered that he did.

The fire-lemur blinked out.

"It was beautiful," said Arthur. 

"You're not freaked out?"

Arthur stared at him for a long moment. "No. Not at all. Wow."

Merlin smiled to himself. "That's all right, then."

"When did you learn to do that?"

"Oh, a long, long time ago."

"Where did you get it? The magic?"

"It's not something you get, Arthur. It's something you're born with. I've always had magic. It's me. Part of me. Always has been, always will be. It's not evil. It's not good, for that matter. It just is. You can learn how to use it, how to control it. The rest is up to you. Just like having a lot of money, or the power to rule a country. If your magic comes from a place of compassion and a want to do good, that's how it comes out. If it comes from a place of anger and violence… well, that's what happened with Morgana. She didn't know any better. It's like a kid who finds the keys to a fast car, you know? It's not the car's fault if they crash it."

Merlin watched as it sank in; saw Arthur's prejudice wash away all over again. 

"I'm so sorry, Merlin," Arthur said. "I had no idea.

Merlin gave him a long-suffering look that probably belonged to a lifetime ago, and put his mug down carefully on the tray.

And then he kissed him. 

"Merlin…."

"Shh. I think it's time, don't you?"

Arthur nodded.

Arthur's skin was warm under Merlin's touch; he'd slid his hand under Arthur's shirt before he even realised what he was doing. He wanted this so much. His lips and tongue dragged across Arthur's neck and jaw; Arthur fell back on the bed and Merlin crawled on top of him without a moment's hesitation. Fleeting impressions flew through Merlin's mind in the frenzy of kissing and touching and shoving clothing out of the way: Arthur's hair was incredibly soft; Arthur's body was hard with muscle, but different muscles, a rower's body, not a knight's. Arthur's breath was coming in gasps, needy and surprisingly fragile. Arthur was strong and confident and at the same time, Merlin knew he was touching something else inside, something hidden and rare and bigger than mountains. Something that was older than either of them; that touched the magic in Merlin's soul and made everything slot into place.

"Merlin," said Arthur, panting. "Are you, are you…"

"It's not my first time," Merlin gasped back. 

"No, I meant-"

"I've got condoms. But we don't need them anyway."

Arthur laughed breathlessly and gave Merlin a little shove, to put enough distance between them to properly communicate. Merlin whined; he wanted contact so fiercely. He _needed_ it.

"I was going to say are you all right?" Arthur said.

"Oh yes," said Merlin. "Never better. Can we have sex now?"

Merlin pulled Arthur back down on top of him without waiting for an answer. The little noise in the back of Arthur's throat; Arthur's hand flat on the small of his back; Arthur's leg wrapping around his so he could barely move: that was answer enough.

It was amazing.

It wasn't as if he'd waited for Arthur for hundreds of years, keeping himself chaste. Merlin loved to fuck and when the opportunity presented itself, he went along with it eagerly and wholeheartedly. Gwaine had once chided him for having a simple on-off switch and no sense of seduction or building tension or whatever the fuck it was Gwaine thought he was doing when he waited until the third date before he made a move. So it wasn't pent-up sexual frustration that made it feel so good.

And it wasn't just testosterone, primal urges, body-reward-brain good. Not just 'Oh fuck, he's got his mouth on my dick, look at that, he's on his knees, oh fuck, his tongue feels so good, oh fuck, my balls are going to explode' good. It wasn't that either of them was exactly a sex-God (although Arthur looked a lot like one); Merlin nearly kneed Arthur in the face when he touched that tickly place near the small of his back, and Arthur fell off the bed trying to show off. In fact, it was just like old times.

And _that_ was what made it so amazing.

Merlin stretched his arms out over his head and felt Arthur's tongue trail down his chest to his belly, his cock, his balls; Merlin felt Arthur's hair tickle across his hipbones; Merlin felt the length of Arthur's body press down into his and it was like sunsets and beach-fires and the wash of the tide. Like dragon's breath and the smell of sun on castle stone; like huge wooden beds and rough wooden tables and the damp cold walls of the armoury; like every time they'd done this before - and at the same time it was as fresh and new as summer rain.

It was closing a circle, and as Merlin wrapped himself around Arthur and pulled him deep inside, he knew, without a doubt, that it was the best decision he'd ever, ever made.

*

Merlin ran his fingers through the hair on Arthur's chest, watching the rise and fall, the breath. Precious, precious breath.

"It's weird," Arthur said. "I feel like I've known you forever."

Merlin shut his eyes against a sudden surge of emotion. It took him a moment before he could reply. "Me too."

Arthur kissed the top of his head. "I trust you, you know. Completely. Is that weird? My father used to tell me I trusted people too quickly."

"It's not weird," said Merlin. 

"Gwaine said you were one of the nicest blokes he'd ever met."

"Really? Remind me to buy him a beer some time."

"He and Gwen were worried about you."

"I've been a bit of a rubbish friend lately. It's okay. I'll make it up to them." Merlin stroked his cheek against Arthur's shoulder, half stopping an itch, half just enjoying the sheer physical presence of him. His skin. His warmth. His voice.

"You can tell them I acted like a moron, if you like," Arthur said.

"Nah. That's just between you and me."

"Why do I have a feeling you're not going to let me forget it?"

"No idea. I've already accepted your apology."

"Twice," said Arthur, with a wicked chuckle.

"Twice," said Merlin, smugly.

Arthur pulled him in more tightly. A breeze drifted through the open window, heavy with the scent of the lilac that covered the wall outside. 

"Did Morgana ever mention me?" Merlin asked, knowing full well she hadn't, but unable to think of any other way to start the conversation he knew that they had to have.

"Not that I recall. She talked about Gwen, of course, but she didn't talk about their friends. I hadn't heard of you until the regatta."

"I suppose that's understandable."

"What d'you mean?"

Merlin paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "What do you know about what happened to her last autumn, while you were in Madagascar?"

"We didn't exactly sit down as a family and have a calm chat about it. My father told me what he thought I needed to know - that she'd got in with a bad crowd here and they'd persuaded her to try magic, but she got clean. I didn't press him for details. Morgana's never said a word about it. Why?"

"Because I was the one who helped her to stop."

Arthur rolled over onto his side, propping his head up on his hand, wide-eyed. "You?"

"Your father didn't want to make a fuss, but the College were ready to send her down, and they would have been bound to get the police involved. So he asked Gaius, who's my mentor and an old friend of Uther's, and Gaius recommended me. I locked myself in a room with Morgana for three days and by the end of it she'd come back. She promised not to use magic again until she gets her licence, and that was that."

Arthur looked at him in complete astonishment. "You?" he repeated.

"Yes, Arthur, me. And I shouldn't be telling you any of this, so please, don't breathe a word of it to anyone."

"So why are you telling me?"

"Partly because I don't want there to be secrets." Merlin gave a little smile, which Arthur returned, giving him a squirmy little moment of pleasure. "But also because she's doing it again, and I have to stop her. Did you see her the other day in the dining hall?"

"Yeah, I saw her." Arthur shrugged. "She said hi, I said hi, that was it. She was fine. Just… Morgana-ish."

"Well, she's not fine. She's full of dark magic. I can sense it. It's kind of… oily."

"Oily?"

"It's hard to explain."

"I suppose I should tell father. He won't be happy."

Alarmed, Merlin put a hand on Arthur's arm. "No, Arthur, don't. Not yet. He'll just go off the deep end and I don't think that'll help at all."

Arthur considered that for a moment. "Hmm, I suppose not. The more he yells at Morgana about anything, the more likely she is to do it. But what choice do we have?"

 _We_. Not I. _We._

The happiness surged again; however worried Merlin was about Morgana or anything else, it couldn't quench the feeling that Arthur was alive again, right here, and for all that things were completely different, it felt exactly the same as it had done hundreds of years ago. Merlin nestled back down at Arthur's side and kissed his collar bone. 

"We'll think of something," he said. "We always do."

"What will happen to her?" Arthur's voice sounded sad and perhaps a little afraid. Merlin remembered the old Morgana, the old betrayal; he took Arthur's hand in his and squeezed it tight. 

"Nothing's going to happen to her. "

"But if it did…."

"The problem isn't that she's using magic, so much. It's that she seems drawn to particularly dark magic. Necromancy, mind control, that sort of thing. It's very dangerous, not just because of what she might do with it, but because it doesn't come for free. It takes so much power that it can consume the witch or warlock using it. And with dark magic there is always a price to pay. And it's not always obvious."

Arthur swallowed. "How did you stop her last time?"

The memory hit Merlin like a gut-punch. _I ran her through with a sword forged in the dragon's breath. Your sword. Excalibur._

He squeezed his eyes tight shut for a second, forcing himself back into this other world. The recent, not ancient past.

"I used my own magic to get her to the point where I could reason with her. Then I showed her how to use her seeing skills."

"What? You mean she was blind?"

"No, she's a seer. She can see the future. But it used to come randomly to her, she had no control. I showed her how to use it, so she could see the consequences of her actions."

"You mean she can see what's going to happen to her and she's still doing it?"

"I think someone has stopped her visions; I need to help her get them back. What do you know about Morgause?"

"Morgause? The blonde girl? I met her in the dining hall, that same day I saw you. Morgana introduced us. Apparently she runs some feminist group Morgana's joined."

"She's also a witch, and a very, very dangerous person."

Arthur flopped onto his back, arm over his eyes. "Shit."

"Are you okay?" said Merlin, concerned.

"It's a lot to take in, Merlin. A couple of hours ago I lived this ordinary life, with my biggest worry being who to pick for the team for Saturday's race. Now my boyfriend's a powerful warlock, my sister's hanging out with some sorceress and she's in danger of turning to the dark side. It's like my whole life changed in a heartbeat."

"I know," said Merlin, softly. "It's tough. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Arthur peeped out from behind his arm. "You're sure we can save the world?"

Merlin grinned at him with all the conviction he could muster - and it turned out he had quite a lot. "Absolutely, Arthur. You have my word."

"Well, that's all right then," said Arthur.

*

Later that afternoon, Merlin dragged himself away from Arthur and went to wait outside the Seeley Historical Library. Gwen saw him as soon as she came out, and rushed over.

"Merlin!" Her whole face lit up and she flung her arms around Merlin's neck, planting a wet kiss on his ear. "Where on earth have you been?!"

"Here and there." Merlin hugged her back. Her hair tickled his face. "I'm sorry if I worried you."

"Well, of course you did. But it's okay, I'm glad you're all right. You are all right, aren't you?"

"I'm fine." He actually felt acutely guilty for worrying her, but if he told her that she'd feel bad for making him feel bad, so he just gave her another hug.

She sniffed his neck.

"What are you doing?" Merlin batted at her. "Stop, it tickles!"

She pulled back and squinted at him. "You smell of Arthur."

"Gwen!" he said, indignantly.

"I have a very sensitive nose, and you smell exactly like him. So either you've started wearing his aftershave, which seems unlikely, as I've never known you wear aftershave at all, or you've been close enough to him for it to rub off on you. Which is it, Merlin? Hmm?"

"You should consider a career as a private detective, you know that?"

"Ha! I was right!"

Merlin couldn't stop himself grinning. "As it happened we spent a very pleasant afternoon together. And that's all I'm saying."

Gwen hugged him all over again. "Oh, Merlin, I'm so pleased for you! You really deserve to be happy, and Arthur will take good care of you, I know he will."

"You mean I'll take good care of him."

"Both ways. When did this happen?"

"Just this afternoon."

"And it's serious?"

Merlin hesitated. The new Merlin wanted to say no, it's too early, there's no way of telling. But the old Merlin knew. "Yes," he said, happily. "This time I'm not letting him get away just when things get good."

"That's fantastic news."

"Well, yeah. He's insufferable, of course."

"Oh, of course."

"What about you? How are you doing?"

Her smile dropped a notch, her expression clouded. "I'm fine."

"Any news of Morgana?"

"No. At least, I haven't seen her. Clare, from the women's group, said she's seen her with that Morgause woman."

"Did she say anything else?"

"She's missing a lot of classes, and there are rumours of disciplinary charges. It looks as though she won't be back next year." Gwen sighed. "It's pretty obvious that she's gone back to her old ways, I suppose."

"It's not too late. Don't worry, Gwen. I'm going to save her."

She gave him a sceptical look. "You really think it's possible, don't you?"

"Absolutely."

"There's something different about you, Merlin. You're very… confident. In a nice way, I mean."

"I think Arthur's good for me," said Merlin, cheerfully. "I have one favour to ask you, though. Can you give me Morgana's phone number? Not the one she gives out to everyone. The other one. You still have it, don't you?"

"Of course. But I don't suppose she'll answer."

"That's okay," Merlin got his phone out ready to enter the number. "I don't need her to."

*

Hacking phone SIMs using magic was something Merlin had seen on a detective show on TV a couple of years before, round at his friend Gilli's house. Gilli had insisted it was ridiculous and impossible and just helped give magic users a bad name, because of course the hacker on TV was a serial-killing sorcerer who was using it to locate his next victim. But while Merlin murmured agreement with his friend's cultural analysis, he couldn't imagine it would be impossible. Someone of ordinary power, like Gilli, might struggle. But as Merlin reflected on it, his magic guided his thoughts, reached out to possibilities, until Merlin was pretty sure he knew how it would work. 

He'd never tested the theory, though. Until now.

Merlin laid his phone on the bench in Gaius's lab, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

"Is there anything I can do?" Gaius asked.

"Just keep watch. I need to concentrate."

"All right."

Gaius perched on the stool next to him, and even with his eyes shut Merlin could feel his old friend watching him. He felt suddenly nervous. But that wouldn't do; he needed to be calm and logical to deal with electronics. 

Merlin took another breath, and felt for his phone with his magic. Observed it. Tiny wires and chips and microscopic dots of metal. Merlin drilled down deeper. Beyond the circuitry and the machine's cells and atoms; the power of electricity that ran through its veins. The signals, stretching out to space and back with streams of data. Photos, tweets, texts, phone calls, all collecting up there beyond the atmosphere before flowing back to earth. 

It was beautiful, in its way.

At the heart of it all were numbers. Sweet, sweet numbers; codes upon codes upon codes. And everything was connected.

He thought hard about Morgana's number, and whispered _"Ingefeallan"_.

His phone sprang to life, the display lit, icons gleaming. Not the display he was used to: no dragon wallpaper, no Norse-English dictionary, and there were apparently thirty-four unread emails, which certainly wasn't usual for him. 

Merlin touched the message icon. A list of names scrolled in front of him, and one sprang out immediately. _Morgause._

He tapped on the most recent message. 

_~Don't forget tonight. 10.30, Leper Chapel. I'll see you there, my dearest._

It was dated today. "Gotcha," Merlin murmured. He skimmed through the next couple of dozen messages but Morgana was no fool: whatever she was up to, she wasn't detailing her plans in text messages.

The phone rang.

Merlin jumped, cutting off his magic so fast it stung. The ringing stopped; his phone vibrated loudly, as if in protest, and then the screen went blank. When he tentatively pressed the button to turn it back on, he was greeted by the usual picture of the water dragon and a banner reminding him to call his mother. 

Merlin let out a long breath.

"Well," said Gaius. "That was rather impressive. Did you find anything useful?"

"She's meeting Morgause tonight at a place called the Leper Chapel." Merlin frowned. "I'm sure I've heard of it somewhere before."

"That's the Chapel of St Mary Magdalene. Some say it's the oldest building in Cambridge, goes right back to the twelfth century. Seems like an odd place to meet, though, I think it's closed unless there are services on. Oh, and I think they do theatre, or something. I forget. Anyway. It's not the sort of place you'd hold a meeting."

"Well, it's where she and Morgause are going tonight, so it's where I'm going too. If I find out what they're up to, I can find a way to stop it."

"Do be careful, Merlin. She could be involved in some very dangerous practices."

"That's okay," said Merlin with a grin. "I'm pretty dangerous myself."

*

The first time Merlin met Morgana it had been like like walking into the heart of a thunderstorm.

He went to Pendragon Manor late one dark November night, greeted with a torrid mixture of relief and disapproval. He was led up the grand staircase and down a long hall.

"She's in here." Uther Pendragon opened a door at the end of the corridor; the latch drew back with a soft click and the door swung open to reveal a large bedroom, decorated in white and soft, translucent lilac. On the modern four poster bed sat Morgana. She looked slender, fragile and beautiful.

"She's been like that for days," Uther said, words thickened with anguish. "Just sitting there."

But she wasn't 'just sitting there'. Far from it. Merlin could see the wisps of dark magic binding themselves around her. The storm of power. The quiet, quivering pulse of fear.

"Can you help her?"

"Yes," said Merlin, and threw himself into the maelstrom.

*

When Merlin's phone next rang it was a text from Arthur, inviting Merlin to join him and some of his rowing team for dinner. The text contained a kiss (although that might have been a typo) and a smiley face. Merlin texted back to accept and included three kisses and two smiley faces, and ran back to his room to shower.

Merlin arrived at the pub Arthur had chosen a not-too-needy, not-too-casual five minutes late. It was early but the pub was already full of students noisily taking advantage of happy hour. Arthur, however, had managed to find a big, round table in an alcove far enough away from the chaos of the bar that you could still hold a conversation without shouting.

Merlin slipped into a seat between Arthur and Gwaine, taking a moment to remember why there weren't runes on the table, why they weren't in a big stone hall, why no-one was wearing armour.

Arthur squeezed his hand under the table.

Judging by the elbowing going on between the Leon and Percival, and the entirely unsubtle wink that Gwaine gave him, either Arthur had said something to them already or it was just plain obvious. Merlin didn't care. His heart was all but bursting with the thought that Arthur was alive again, _his_ again, and he'd have shouted it from the rooftops if he could be sure Arthur wouldn't get spooked.

After all, to Arthur this was new and, for all Merlin could tell, he could still be feeling a bit delicate about the magic thing. So Merlin bided his time, and limited himself to a bit of knee pressing and over-long brushes of his hand against Arthur's when Arthur passed the salt. 

Most of the discussion went over Merlin's head: Arthur was already planning next year's rowing team. Robin was taking a gap year and Owen was graduating, but Arthur had his eye on Gwen's brother Elyan, (who was currently sitting his A-levels but rowed at County level), and a visiting student from Harvard, who'd already earned himself an impressive track record back home.

Merlin sipped uneasily at his Pimms (Arthur had ignored his feeble pleas for mineral water), juggling with the too-familiar names, determined not to ask questions, not to look this full on, in case the bubble burst. Arthur's hand was doing delicious things to his thigh. _Arthur is alive._

When dinner was over, Leon suggested a game of pool. Gwaine and the others quickly agreed, but to Merlin's surprise Arthur told them to go ahead without him.

"I hope you're not abstaining on my account," Merlin said. 

"Nah," said Arthur. "I left something in my room. Want to come help me find it?"

"I suppose I could," said Merlin, long-suffering. "If you insist."

"Oh, I think I do," said Arthur.

*

"God," Arthur said, kicking the door shut behind him and tugging Merlin's shirt off at the same time. "Do you have any idea what you were doing to me back there?"

"Not a clue," said Merlin, plucking at Arthur's jeans. 

"You rubbed your foot on my leg."

"So I did," panted Merlin. "Got a little foot fetish going on there, have we?"

"Don't be absurd," said Arthur. "Bit of a sensitive spot."

"The back of your knee," said Merlin, smugly, and finally got Arthur's belt undone.

"Maybe." Arthur pushed Merlin back against his wardrobe, planting wet kisses down his neck to his shoulder and back again. Merlin gave up trying to do anything with the zip of Arthur's jeans and instead rubbed at the firm ridge behind it. "Oh God," Arthur moaned. "Fuck."

"Mmm," said Merlin, and rubbed a bit harder.

"If you carry on like that I'm going to end up with sticky boxers."

"You say such romantic things," murmured Merlin, and dropped to his knees.

Close up, the zip was more manageable, and before Arthur could do more than blink, his boxers were around his ankles, well out of the danger zone, and Merlin's mouth was on his cock. 

Arthur's fingers were gentle in Merlin's hair, despite the tension that rippled his stomach and clenched his thighs. Merlin closed his eyes, and slicked his tongue over hot, hard flesh. He cradled Arthur's balls in one hand, gently, just how he liked it.

Like he'd _always_ liked it.

"Merlin." Arthur's voice was tight, his breath short. "Wait. I want to last."

Merlin let Arthur's cock slide from his mouth, aware that it left a sticky trail across his lower lip. He looked up, registered the glazed eyes, pink cheeks, and scant self-control. "Yeah?"

"God help me," Arthur said, and shoved his cock right back in Merlin's mouth. "Do whatever you want."

Merlin took a hold of Arthur's dick by the root and squeezed gently, dragging his lips over the tip. He tasted salt. Ran his tongue over the slit to taste more. Imagined Arthur coming right there and then. Hot. Thick. Coating his tongue.

He opened wide and took Arthur's cock down deep. Arthur still watched him with an expression of complete awe. Merlin took a second to adjust his jeans, his own cock throbbing uncomfortably in its confinement. Arthur's gaze followed his hand, noticing, and Arthur's cock twitched in Merlin's mouth. 

Arthur rocked his hips a few times and Merlin moved with him, picking up the rhythm, tightening his grip. A few short minutes later and Arthur tensed up, made a roaring noise and tried to pull back. Merlin stopped him. Cradled the head of Arthur's cock on his tongue and let him pulse long streams of thick, sticky come into his mouth. 

Arthur slid to the floor and buried his face in Merlin's neck, trembling and oddly vulnerable. Merlin held him close, held him safe, and relished the warmth of him. 

"Just give me a moment," Arthur panted. "And I'm going to fuck the living daylights out of you."

"You better had," said Merlin.

*

Arthur slept and Merlin watched him, taking in every last detail. The little cluster of freckles on his shoulder. The ridiculously long eyelashes. The snore that sounded like a grumpy dog growling. 

Merlin lay at Arthur's side, and loved him.

There was a thought. It nagged at Merlin like the after-itch of a nettle-sting. It pushed through his consciousness with terrifying ease.

_What if all this is a lie?_

Merlin touched Arthur's cheek. Trailed his fingers along Arthur's jaw. So warm. So solid.

So real.

But Merlin knew how strong his magic was, _and_ how strong his imagination was. It was possible that he'd simply made himself a bubble, a place to live where nothing hurt, where he wasn't forever and irretrievably alone, waiting for a destiny that was never going to happen.

His heart ached; his gut knotted with fear. He closed his eyes, drew in air and let it out in one long, slow breath. He focused on the strong, snoring, sweaty presence of Arthur next to him. The sounds around him were Cambridge sounds: birds, students, ancient plumbing. Real or not, he was here. 

He opened his eyes, kissed the freckles on Arthur's shoulder, and crept out of bed.

The doubt receded to a distant itch, and Merlin went to save Morgana.

*

The chapel was an ancient building, with curved doors and windows and the stain of old ivy on its stone. It was set in a patch of very green, modern lawn at the end of a long, straight path, in the middle of an industrial estate. It looked odd. Forgotten. Out of place. Out of time. It was also firmly locked. 

Merlin looked around to find somewhere to hide. On the opposite side of the road was a wooden fence containing some scrappy-looking bushes that screened a fishing pond from the road; Merlin quickly found a gap and found himself a safe vantage point behind the bushes. He settled in to wait.

At five to ten, a blue convertible pulled up and parked a few yards from the chapel, and Morgause stepped gracefully out of it. She'd just reached the door of the chapel when Morgana arrived on her bicycle, which she propped against the chapel wall. She greeted Morgause with a kiss, and Merlin felt his heart break a little for Gwen. 

Morgause opened the chapel door - she had a key - and they went inside. 

Merlin was considering the best way to get closer without too high a risk of being noticed, when another woman arrived at the chapel and went inside. Then another, and another. A bus stopped just up the road and a gaggle of half a dozen or more people got off and made their way to the chapel too. Merlin counted around twenty people all together, and was starting to wonder if this really was just a feminist gathering after all. 

There was only one way to find out. As soon as a few minutes had passed without any more new arrivals, Merlin emerged from his hiding place and made his way across the road. Keeping close to the hedge, and wishing it afforded more cover, he crept to the window closest to the door where people had been going in, and peeped inside, grateful for the fading light and the old, opaque windows that shielded him from those inside.

They sat in a circle on the floor. A cluster of candles in the centre threw soft, golden light on the whitewashed walls. Chattering fell to silence, and into that silence, Morgause fed a chant, Morgana echoing every word just a syllable behind. 

"Fréodóm, ætbregdan, galdorcræft."

The rest of the circle bowed their heads until Morgause had finished. 

"Well met, fighters for freedom, liberty and magic," she said.

"Well met, Priestess," the group replied. None of the faces Merlin could see looked old enough to practise magic legally. Few of them looked old enough to have left school.

"Before we attend to our main purpose," Morgause continued, "Morgana has a new member to introduce us to."

It was only then that Merlin noticed the slight figure sitting on Morgana's right, face obscured by the shadow of the large peak of their baseball cap. At Morgana's signal they stood up, and Morgana, with a quiet word of admonishment, took off the cap.

"I am pleased to introduce Mordred to our group. He may seem a little young but do not be fooled: his powers are great and will be a substantial asset to us."

"Welcome, Mordred," the circle chorused.

Merlin's knees went to rubber; he pressed his forehead against the rough stone wall of the chapel, scarcely able to control the fear that rushed through him. 

Mordred and Morgana.

It took every ounce of determination he could muster to resist the urge to run, and instead to once more look through the chapel window.

Mordred really was young, maybe thirteen or fourteen at most. When he looked at Morgana his eyes shone: besotted, impressionable, adoring. 

Merlin felt sick. But his attention was soon caught by Morgause, who was doing something that seemed out of place in the ancient, candlelit church. 

She was passing round handouts.

"Our first target will be the heart of secular society," she said. "Capitalism itself."

There were murmurs of approval around the circle. Mordred nodded gravely. 

Morgana's eyes shone with anger and determination. "We will strike against Pendragon Enterprises," she said.

This time the murmurs were of astonishment. "But that's your father," said one shrill voice.

"Yes," Morgana said. "It grieves me to admit that his business is corrupt to the core. Not only does it exhibit the worst excesses of capitalist greed, but it has perverted the very power of the earth itself."

"How?" the shrill one asked.

"The details aren't important," Morgause said. "We don't have time to debate the whys and wherefores. You elected Morgana and myself to serve you, and we do so with diligent research and wise choices. Does anyone wish to challenge our decision?"

There was a hasty chorus of 'No!' and 'Of course not!' and 'We do the bidding of the circle!" Apparently satisfied with this show of loyalty, Morgause waved her handout in the air. "This is a spell for you to learn before we meet again. It's very important that you learn it verbatim, and even more important that it remains a secret. To this end, the paper itself will burn to a crisp on the stroke of midnight. You have that long to commit it to memory. Understood?"

Merlin strained to focus on one of the sheets, but he couldn't make out the writing on it. It was baffling: clearly Morgause sought to make a bold, powerful move. But apart from Morgana and Mordred, the rest of the circle showed no great power. Not only were they young, but from the way some of them were squinting at their handouts, it didn't look as though they'd so much as seen a written spell before. 

Whatever Morgause was trying to achieve, she clearly needed all the help from Morgana and Mordred that she could squeeze out of them. Unfortunately, they both appeared more than willing. There was a wild look in Morgana's eyes, far too close to anger and desperation than Merlin could bear.

He had seen enough. As Morgause and Morgana circulated to coach their novices, he slipped silently away.

*

Merlin returned to the university, and went not to Trinity or Fitzwilliam, but to Murray Edwards. He let himself into Morgana's room with a pulse of magic as casual and easy as a breath. 

He didn't have to wait long before Morgana returned. She turned on the light and jumped to see him there, sitting in the window seat, back pressed against the cool, leaning arch of stone. 

"Merlin! What on earth are you doing here?!"

"I have to talk to you."

"Can't it wait? And how the fuck did you break into my room? What gives you the right-"

Merlin emerged from the window seat to stand in front of Morgana. He was close enough to smell her perfume, to feel the magic-laden heat of her body. "You're doing magic again," he said. "That gives me the right to stop you."

Morgana's expression hardened. "Get out."

"No."

"I mean it."

"Are you going to make me?"

For a moment he thought Morgana might rise to the challenge, seriously enough that his magic was stirred and ready to be unleashed with a single gesture, a muttered word. That's all it would take. But instead Morgana closed the door behind her, and leaned back against it. "I'm going to give you one chance," she said. "And then I want you to leave."

"Good," said Merlin, relieved. "If you'll just listen-"

"Oh no, no, no." Morgana shook her head. "You don't get to talk. You get to listen."

"I'm all ears," said Merlin.

"I know what you're thinking. 'Poor Morgana, gone off the rails again, dabbling in things she doesn't understand, better rescue her before she gets chucked out, or recruited by an evil coven, or loses her soul.' Right?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"Well, I can let you off the hook. None of those things are going to happen. All that's going to happen is that I'm going to carry on learning how to use my power and then, one day, I will use it to save the world. How does that sound?"

"Unlikely," said Merlin. "You're using dark magic. You know what that does."

"Only to the inexperienced. I admit I was a fool last time, I had no idea what I was messing with and got in way over my head. But it's different this time."

"How?" 

"I have an ally. Someone who will teach me _now_ , when I need it, not five years from now, when it's too late. Someone who's gift leans naturally to the same kind of magic as mine does. Someone who understands."

"Morgause," said Merlin. "She gave you that bracelet, didn't she?"

Morgana's hand went to the ornate band around her wrist. "That's none of your business."

Merlin bit down the irritation that would lead to nothing more than a slanging match, however much it burned inside. "When did you last have a vision?"

"Weeks ago," said Morgana. "I don't need them any more."

"Yes, you do. What are you planning, you and Morgause and your little group of sorcerers? Revolution? Don't you want to know how it turns out?"

"You know my visions didn't work that way."

"They serve as warnings, Morgana."

"Morgause has far more advanced scrying skills than me. We don't need any of my 'warnings'."

"Really? That seems particularly short-sighted to me. Surely it would be good to have more than one opinion before you leap into the fray? Why did she give you that bracelet, Morgana?"

"It was my birthday. I wasn't sleeping well. She cares for me. Is that good enough for you?"

"Ah," Merlin said. "And I imagine you had a few visions after she gave you the bracelet? It's not as if she actually _stopped_ you having them or anything?"

At last a flicker of doubt crossed Morgana's face. Her fingers tightened over the bracelet and for a moment Merlin thought she might be about to take it off.

But instead her mood switched and she turned on him angrily.

"I know what this is about. You don't care about my magic! You just don't like it that I left your little friend Gwen, do you? That I found someone to be with who's my equal. Who understands magic and doesn't lead an ordinary, stifled life without it. Well, tough, Merlin. I've made my choice and you can tell Gwen she'll just have to live with it!"

"So will you," said Merlin, darkly.

"If you want to waste your time with ordinary, petty human beings, that's your choice! Just don't drag me down with you!"

The anger gave her eyes the faintest hint of gold: her magic was so close to the surface that it was about to escape. Merlin threw his own at her so fast she couldn't stop him: sparkling golden threads bound her hands and lights that flashed across her skin. She tried to fight back, just as she had months ago in her room at Pendragon Manor, but she still wasn't strong enough. Merlin's magic subdued hers for long enough to keep them both safe. She dropped to her knees, head hanging, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. "I can't let you do this."

"And I told you it's none of your business. Now let me go!"

Merlin let the spell fade. Morgana rubbed her hands together as if the bonds had been real and painful. "Please, Morgana," Merlin said. "Take the bracelet off. Just for tonight. You'll see I'm right."

"I think it's time for you to leave," Morgana said.

Reluctantly, Merlin did.

*

Merlin was waiting for Gaius when he came to open up his lab next morning. He hadn't slept much; every time he closed his eyes he saw Mordred and Morgana standing side by side: Mordred armoured and holding the sword Aithusa had made to be the bane of Excalibur. 

"You're early," Gaius said, ushering Merlin into his lab. "How did it go last night?"

"I think Morgause is planning a revolution. She's got a band of under-age sorcerers and they're going to start off by attacking Uther's company."

Gaius blinked at him. "Really? That's odd. How is she planning to carry out such a campaign?"

"I'm not sure. She gave them all a spell to learn, but I didn't get a good look at it. To be honest, I'm not worried about the others. They didn't seem to know what they were doing at all. Most of them were kids. I'd guess only Morgause and Morgana have any real power. And…. Mordred was there."

"Mordred?" Gaius clearly shared Merlin's alarm. "What was he doing there?"

"Morgana had just introduced him to the group."

Gaius looked horrified. "The gifted and talented scheme. Oh dear, Merlin, I'm afraid that might be my fault."

"How come?"

"A while ago, when she still used to visit me for her mentorship sessions, Morgana often used to say how frustrated she felt that she couldn't do anything useful with her power. I was aware of this scheme, where Cambridge undergraduates would go and tutor pupils at a local school who had particular promise, either magically or academically. I thought it might do her some good. It's highly supervised. I honestly didn't think any harm could come of it."

"Apparently she's taking her tutoring duties a bit too seriously." Merlin couldn't find it in him to be cross with Gaius: with a sinking sense of dread he realised that if there was any universe with Morgana and Mordred in it, they would find each other. Just as he would always find Arthur.

"It's a curious thing, this world of yours," Gaius said. "I can understand creating a universe full of long-lost friends. But recreating your enemies? That's a little clumsy, Merlin."

He was only teasing, but it struck Merlin to the very core, stinging every one of his fears to life. "We must find a spell," he said. "To put things back as they were. It's the only way."

"But you would lose Arthur again," said Gaius, softly.

"What point is it having Arthur if it's not really Arthur?" said Merlin, tears choking his voice. "All I've done is bring evil back to the world."

He slumped onto one of Gaius's bench stools.

Gaius put a mug of tea in front of him, and patted his shoulder. "Come on, Merlin. You'll see Kilgharrah tonight. Perhaps you'll get some answers."

Merlin lifted his head and Gaius offered him a plate of chocolate digestives. "I'm not sure I want answers any more," Merlin said, taking a biscuit. "It's bound to be something I don't want to hear."

"I wouldn't be so sure. Let's say that this world is real, and Morgana and Morgause and Mordred do their worst. Who's to say the outcome will be the same?"

"Because I couldn't stop them before," Merlin said. "I tried and tried with all the power in the world and I still couldn't save Arthur. In the end there was _nothing_ I could do."

"You created peace in Camelot," Gaius reminded him. "Gwen and Leon reigned for many years, and Albion thrived. Don't you remember?"

Of course he did. But all he could think of was Arthur, dying in his arms, never to see the fruits of all he'd fought for. Scarcely even knowing who Merlin really was. "The cost was too high, Gaius. I can't go through that again." 

Gaius did what Gaius had always done, and never done; he gathered Merlin into his arms, and hugged him. Merlin felt the smooth, clean cotton of Gaius's lab-coat where once there had been linen and leather, and made up his mind.

*

Merlin was leaving Gaius's lab an hour or so later when his phone rang. It was Arthur.

"Merlin?"

"Hi."

"You left last night." He sounded hurt. 

"Yeah, sorry. Remembered something I had to do."

"You could've left a note. I've been worried about you."

"No need." Merlin kept his voice light, casual, all too aware that he felt anything but and not wanting Arthur to pick up on it. The last thing in the world he wanted right now was Arthur's sympathy. It would make what he had to do too hard.

"If you'd left a note, I would have known there was no need to worry," said Arthur, pointedly.

"Yeah, okay, sorry. But I'm fine."

"Right. Fancy a coffee?"

"Sorry, got to go to the library."

There was a pause.

"What?" said Merlin.

"How about lunch?"

"Um," Merlin said. "Sorry. Got to see my mentor. Gaius."

"At lunchtime?"

"Only time he could fit me in."

"This afternoon, then."

"Sorry, more library. I've got these texts I have to study for next week's exams. Sorry."

"Okay. I'll pick you up from the library at seven, and take you to dinner. Somewhere nice."

Merlin racked his brains for an excuse, but could think of nothing. He couldn't very well tell Arthur that he had a meeting with a dragon. 

He used to be better at lying than this.

"I need an early night," he said, eventually, knowing full well that it sounded all the more lame for coming after a long pause. 

Arthur sighed wearily. "Okay then. I get the message."

"Tomorrow, maybe?" said Merlin, not wanting Arthur to get the message at all. "If I get on okay with the revision today."

"Don't bother," Arthur said. "Rowing practice. All fucking day."

And hung up.

*


	7. Chapter 7

Merlin spent the day researching spells: in his old spell book, in a couple of books Gaius had lent him, and on parts of the Internet he wasn't supposed to look at until he had a licence. He couldn't find anything that remotely resembled the spell he had cast, never mind any way of reversing it. He napped uneasily in the late afternoon before setting out for the Gog Magog hills. He found the spot where he had called Aithusa, and settled in to wait for sunset. 

The darkness came, and midnight came, and Merlin watched the lights of Cambridge go out, and felt the welcome chill of the night come on. 

And then Kilgharrah came.

The wind blew up, blasting his face with a warm rush of air, ruffling his hair, all but knocking him off his feet. Kilgharrah settled on the ground with a thump, a furl of wings and a rustle of scales, and Merlin rushed over to him. For a moment he forgot about the spell and the old universe and the old Kilgharrah: this was the dragon he'd known since he was a boy, who held his deepest secrets and his darkest fears. Merlin flung himself at his old friend, pressing his cheek against Kilgharrah's chest as the dragon curled himself protectively around him. 

"I missed you so much," said Merlin, blinking back tears.

"And I you, young warlock." 

"I had to call you. I'm sorry."

"There is no need to be sorry. I have flown over places I had long forgotten existed. Albion is as beautiful as ever, for the most part. But I expect you have questions." Kilgharrah uncurled a little, and pinned Merlin with one huge, golden eye. "As usual."

"Yes, well that's the point, isn't it," Merlin said. "'As usual' is a lot longer than it used to be."

"You have remembered."

"I found my old book. My spell book. Apparently I used it as a diary as well."

"That book holds many secrets."

"Did I really change the whole world to get Arthur back?"

"Does this surprise you?"

"Well, no," Merlin admitted. "It doesn't surprise me that I tried. But I wish I hadn't."

Kilgharrah's eyes widened in surprised. "Are you not happy here?"

"Well, I was." Merlin thought of Arthur, sprawled out on his bed, tangled in white sheets. "But it's not real, is it?"

"Does it not feel real? Are you not breathing? Eating? Growing?" Kilgharrah nudged Merlin's shoulder, almost knocking him over. "You appear to be a little taller than when I saw you last, despite telling me a full year ago that you were fully grown."

"Just tell me what I did," said Merlin. "Please."

Kilgharrah stretched, spread his wings, flapped them once and folded them neatly into his sides again. "You used the deep magic. The magic of time itself. It's a magic you've held from the moment you first entered the world: to make a moment last a minute."

"It's how I saved Arthur's life," Merlin said. "The first time."

"That would be mastery enough for most. But to bring back Arthur you went deeper. You wound the whole of time with your magic and made a future where Arthur could live again."

Merlin looked down at the dark, damp grass between the dragon's feet. "I failed," he said, miserably.

"Failed? What makes you say such a thing?" 

"This is wrong, isn't it? What about the future that should have been? I have no right to mess about with time - other peoples' time - on a selfish whim!"

"Tell me, young warlock: if you listen to the earth, truly listen with your heart and mind and magic, does it feel so very out of place to you?"

Merlin listened. He reached his magic from the stars to the centre of the earth, from the oceans to the desert. "No," he said. "It feels the same as always."

Kilgharrah nodded. "Then who is to say that this is not what destiny had in mind all along?"

"It's screaming," said Merlin, softly. "The earth is screaming for the evil man has done."

"Interesting," Kilgharrah observed.

A streak of lightning split the sky, and the clouds cracked with thunder. With a surging sense of hope and realisation, Merlin understood at last.

"That's why I'm here," he said. "With Arthur. To save the world."

"To save Albion," Kilgharrah said. "There are others who can save the rest. Each land has its dragons, each land has its sorcerers and its hero-kings. You are a mighty warlock, Merlin, but even you could not save the whole world single-handed." He regarded Merlin for a moment, then added, "Probably."

Lightning again, flashing off the dragon's golden scales. Thunder boomed and echoed off the hills. 

"The once and future king," Merlin said.

"I was wondering if you'd forgotten that completely," Kilgharrah said. "It was rather important."

"But what about the others? Gaius and Gwen and the knights?"

"That, young warlock, is your doing. For reasons of your own, you built a future with them in it."

"Wait, no, that doesn't make sense. What about Morgana?"

Kilgharrah bristled huffily. "Your choices regarding the witch rarely made sense to me. Perhaps you should look elsewhere for the answer to that question." 

Merlin remembered the exhilaration he'd felt when he first helped Morgana. And the despair of the previous night, when he'd failed entirely. 

"I think I need to put things right," he said.

"If you say so," said Kilgharrah. 

"So, what do I do? How do we save the world?"

"Not all things can be foretold. If you and Arthur work together, I'm sure you'll find the answer."

"But…. How? How do I explain any of this to him? To any of them? I can't. It would wreck their lives. They wouldn't believe me."

"I think perhaps Arthur might. He, like you, is a creature of magic, after all."

"I especially can't tell him that. He hates magic!"

Kilgharrah sighed deeply. "Forgive me, young warlock, but this all sounds very familiar, does it not? Consider this instead. I am free on a hilltop, not imprisoned in a cave. The rules of your world control magic, but they do not prohibit it. Arthur is not a king. He is a free man. Do not make the mistake of thinking things are the same."

"Some things are," Merlin murmured. "Arthur's as stubborn as ever."

"And you are not?"

Merlin looked up at the sky: despite the thunder and lightning, no rain had come; the storm had passed over and rumbled to nothing. It felt odd. Unsatisfying. Uneasy. 

"The sun will come up in an hour," said Kilgharrah. "I will have to go then."

"Back to Wales?"

"Not just yet. Aithusa has a cave not far from here, in the chalk face by the sea. It's quite pleasant."

"Thank you," said Merlin, and pressed his forehead to Kilgharrah's mighty leg. "I would have gone mad, if not for you."

"Many times," Kilgharrah said. "Now, for the last while before I go, some poems."

The dragon settled, wings spread a little, tail curled around him so he could rest his head upon it, and looked at Merlin expectantly.

"Very well," said Merlin. "In the old language?"

"Of course."

Merlin sat cross-legged at the dragon's side just as he used to do in that cave in Wales throughout his second boyhood, and told him ancient tales of Thor, and the huge serpent that encircled the earth, and the great dragon all but purred.

*

Merlin crawled into bed around four in the morning, and fell immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep, only to be wrenched out of it by a banging noise. He tried turning over and pulling the duvet over his head, and it did stop for a while, but no sooner had Merlin dozed off, than the banging was replaced by a loud ringing sound. Finally conscious enough to realise it was his phone, Merlin groped around on his bedside table until he found it. He squinted at the display, which showed him a 'blocked number' message. Merlin swiped at the screen until the ringing stopped.

"Merlin?"

"Morgana?" Merlin sat bolt upright in bed.

"Open the fucking door, Merlin."

She sounded desperate. Merlin jumped out of bed, tried to wrap his naked self in a sheet, which didn't work at all like it did in the movies, and finally, after Morgana had banged on the door again and yelled, "Merlin!" so loudly his neighbour yelled out for him to let her in, Merlin settled on a towel and opened his door.

Morgana was dressed in jeans and a simple, black t-shirt, her hair a messy pile on her head held in place with one of those plastic claw things. She didn't even seem to have any make-up on. 

In his sleep-addled state it occurred to Merlin that she looked more beautiful than ever. "What's up?"

"It's Arthur. He's in trouble. We have to save him. Come on, get some clothes on!"

"What's happened?" Merlin shed his towel in an instant (Morgana gasped and turned around, covering her eyes with her hand) and started scrambling into yesterday's clothes, which had been abandoned in a pile by the bed. 

"I did what you said. I took the stupid bracelet off, and I had a dream, a vision of Arthur drowning in the river."

"Why?"

"Because you were right about the bracelet, I suppose. Merlin, hurry up! We don't have much time, I'm sure of it."

"No, I mean why was he drowning?" Merlin grabbed his phone and keys, pulling his trainers on at the same time and somehow managing to not, quite, fall over.

"I don't know, it's not clear. He was arguing with someone, I think."

"Rival crew?" Merlin said. "He said he had trouble with them before. Come on. I'm ready."

"I'll drive," said Morgana.

"Better had," said Merlin, slamming his door behind them. "I don't have a car."

*

Morgana drove much too fast, which at least made sure Merlin was thoroughly awake. 

"Why did you come for me?" Merlin asked, once his brain was conscious enough to register that it was a bit odd, considering the last time he'd seen Morgana she had been anything but friendly.

"Because we might need magic," Morgana said. "And if one of us is going to get caught I'd rather it was you."

"Well, thanks," said Merlin. 

The tyres on Morgana's Mini Cooper screeched horribly against the tarmac in the Boathouse car park. Merlin flung open the passenger door and jumped out before she'd got the handbrake on, and set out for the river at a run.

He spotted Percival first, towering over the others gathered in a little group on the jetty that linked the Boathouse to the water. They were all there: Gwaine, Leon and, thank fuck, Arthur. 

There was someone else.

"Morgause?" said Morgana, just behind him. 

Merlin ran faster, so fast he had trouble stopping and cannoned into Gwaine who gave him a startled, "Hey, man!" and caught him in one arm. 

"Get away from him!" Merlin yelled at Morgause.

"I beg your pardon?" 

All eyes were on him, including Arthur's. Arthur looked furious, but not, Merlin thought, with him. The situation didn't look dangerous, but Merlin trusted Morgana's visions. He'd never known them to be wrong, in this life or the old one. "Whatever you're doing here, don't," Merlin said. "Just go home."

"Morgause," Morgana said, her voice more pleading than insistent. "This isn't what we agreed."

"No," Morgause said. "You were supposed to meet me an hour ago, and instead I run into your brother and his cronies. Where have you been? And why have you brought _him_ with you?"

"Oh no you don't," said Arthur. "I told you! You are not to speak to my sister! I forbid it!"

"Arthur!" Morgana looked furious; for a moment Merlin thought she wouldn't mind so much if he drowned after all.

"It's for your own good," said Arthur, as if that honestly gave him the right to tell Morgana what to do. 

Some things really haven't changed, Merlin thought.

Leon stepped forwards, the epitome of calm. "I think it might be best if we all go our separate ways. There's clearly a lot of different viewpoints here, and yelling at each other isn't going to help."

"Shut up, Leon," said Arthur.

"He's right," said Merlin, eyeing the waters of the Cam nervously. "Let's go and finish this inside."

"That's not exactly what I meant," Leon murmured.

"We'll finish this right here," said Arthur. "I want her word that she won't bother my sister again."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," said Morgause.

"No, you don't," Morgana agreed. "Arthur, stop this. Merlin's right. Just get inside and we can sort it out."

"You've been doing magic again," Arthur said. "And it's all her fault." He pointed at Morgause; Gwaine let out a low whistle. 

"You could say it a bit louder, you idiot," hissed Morgana. "I'm sure the whole University would like to know. Especially the Dean's Office."

"Tell him, Morgana," said Morgause. 

"She didn't make me do anything, Arthur, " Morgana said. "I sought her out. I found out about Father and I went to Morgause and asked her to help me put things right."

"When you found out _what_ about Father, exactly?"

"God, Arthur, you have such a blind spot where he's concerned. Didn't you ever wonder how he made his fortune?"

"You know as well as I," said Arthur. "Stocks and shares. Investments. He did really well in the eighties, and unlike a lot of people, he was too shrewd to lose it all again. We've both heard him tell the story a hundred times."

"Didn't you ever wonder _why_ he didn't fail?"

"Not every business fails when there's a recession. He's been clever. He's got a knack for knowing when to invest and when not to. He's damn good as his job."

"Or else he used magic."

"He would never do that!"

"I overheard him talking to one of his business people when I was home at Easter. Turns out our father, the magic-loathing, logic-driven businessman, is nothing of the kind. His business should have sunk thirty years ago. His investment portfolio was all wrong, just like so many others, and like all the others, he didn't realise what was happening until it was too late. So he cheated. He used magic to dig himself out of a hole. He found himself a seer and paid her to tell him what stock market decisions to make, what quirky investments would pay, and he won the lot back before anyone even noticed a dip in his fortune."

"You're making this up," Arthur said, coldly. 

That was the last coherent thing Merlin heard either of them say: in seconds they were shouting at each other without so much as a pause for breath, Morgana screeching and Arthur yelling, everyone making futile attempts to get them to stop. The hairs on the back of Merlin's neck stood up. He he span around to see Morgause reaching a hand towards Arthur; her eyes flashed red-gold and she uttered a single, ancient word. 

"No!" Merlin screamed, but it was too late. She pushed air at Arthur with such force it was bound to hurl him to the ground. 

And that was not the worst of it. Morgause's magic was bound with Morgana's, twisted with it; Morgana in her anger didn't notice what was happening, that the force that hit Arthur would be immense. Merlin could see the river looming behind Arthur; unconscious, he wouldn't stand a chance. Merlin did what he had always done, what he would always do. He hurled himself and his magic between Arthur and Morgause, and took the blow.

He heard Morgana shriek; he heard Arthur's anguished, "Merlin!" - and he felt the water suddenly and smack his back. He struggled to get air into his winded lungs but water filled them instead; suffocation stole his consciousness, leaving him with a single, fading thought.

_Fuck. I'm out of practice._

 

*

 

"Merlin? Come on, Merlin, wake up."

"Arthur?" There was a blurry but very handsome face looming over him.

"At last! How are you feeling?"

Merlin coughed up river water and heaved air into his scorched lungs. He checked himself over, half-expecting to find himself lying on the forest floor, roots digging into his spine. But he was on the smooth, flat wood of the jetty, his hand held firmly in Arthur's. He was soaking wet, and his ribs ached. 

"I'm fine," he said, voice hoarse. He coughed and spluttered again. "She took me by surprise, that's all. Hey, you're wet, too. Why are you wet?"

"Well, someone had to fish you out of the river. You were out cold."

"How long?" Merlin sat up cautiously, welcoming the reassuring strength of Arthur's arm around his shoulders. 

"Only a few minutes. Come on, we'd best get you to A&E just in case. Ambulance is on its way."

"Don't be silly, I'm fine." 

"What if you've got concussion or something?"

"I'm fine. Come on, help me up."

Arthur was starting to get that stubborn look on his face, so Merlin kissed him. Quickly, but with unmistakable passion and a very wriggly tongue that he knew would take Arthur off guard. 

He was dimly aware of Gwaine making a whooping noise, and Percival and Leon coughing and looking embarrassed, but Merlin didn't care. He'd saved Arthur's life, and for once Arthur had not only noticed, but was being really nice about it.

And no-one had died. 

"Where's Morgause?"

"Inside the Boathouse," Arthur said. "One of the coaches saw the whole thing. They called Magic Control."

Merlin craned his neck; he could see her, in the distance. She was sitting on a bench, head bowed. She almost looked sorry, and for a moment Merlin felt a pang of sympathy for her. She'd be locked up. Tried. Her magic would be tamed with drugs and counter-spells. 

Sirens wailed from the car park.

"Come on," Arthur said. "I know you want to be stubborn about this, but I'm afraid I'm going to insist. We're going to get you checked out."

Arthur helped him to his feet. He looked very determined, so Merlin smiled at him. "If you say so, my Lord."

Arthur gave him a funny little look, and led him to the car park.

*

Merlin was sure the paramedics would take his word for it that he was fine and let him go, but apparently it was policy to take anyone who'd been half-drowned in the Cam to hospital. There, in between long periods of waiting, he was x-rayed, injected, and tested for concussion. It was mid-afternoon by the time Merlin was declared fit and well, and allowed to leave, clutching a bottle of precautionary antibiotics and a sheaf of discharge papers that recommended he rest at home for a couple of days. 

Arthur had wanted to stay with him at the hospital, but the sitting around was clearly driving him mad, and Merlin knew he had a tutorial to go to, so he sent him off at lunch time with a promise to keep in constant communication via text message. Arthur took this duty so seriously that Merlin had to charge his phone with magic in the toilets. He knew that if he didn't answer, Arthur would think 'fatal concussion' long before he thought 'dead phone battery'.

Besides, it was nice to get texts from Arthur telling him he was an idiot for nearly drowning himself.

He got back to campus just as Arthur was called to the Dean's office to give his account of what had happened that morning, so Merlin went in search of Gwen, who had been sending him texts almost as concerned as Arthur's (albeit rather less frequently). He found her in the Coffee Shop, curled up in a big leather armchair. She was doing embroidery: impossibly tiny stitches on a little square of cotton. 

When she saw him, she sprang out of her chair and flung her arms around his neck. "Merlin! What on earth were you thinking of!"

"Saving Arthur's neck, mostly," said Merlin, happily. 

"Well, I hope he appreciates it."

"I'm sure he does." Gwen pulled back, accidentally embedding her needle in his upper arm as she did so.

"Ow!" said Merlin. "No stabbing! Don't want to go back to A&E just yet, if you don't mind." He plucked the offending needle from his arm - well, mostly from his t-shirt - and handed it back to her.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" Gwen inspected his arm, all flustered.

"I'll live." Merlin grinned at her. "Honestly, I was kidding!"

"Good," said Gwen. "I've done enough worrying about you for one day. Are you stopping for a cup of tea or something?"

She got them both tea and a couple of cupcakes, and settled back in her chair, while Merlin perched on its broad arm. She showed him the handkerchief she'd been embroidering: there was a tree in one corner, a border of tiny, exquisite leaves and she was half way through the initial in the opposite corner.

"For Morgana?" Merlin said.

"Well, it was. I didn't know what to do with it, really. I couldn't bear to unpick it or throw it away. It seemed a pity not to finish it, and there's lots of people whose names begin with 'M'." She frowned at it. "I suppose it's a bit too girly for you?"

"Sorry," said Merlin. "But now Morgause is out of the picture, maybe it'll end up with Morgana after all."

"It's a nice thought, Merlin, but things aren't that simple, are they?"

"Maybe not. But on the other hand, who knows?"

Gwen smoothed her thumb over the little tree on the handkerchief. 

"As a matter of fact," Merlin continued, "I was going to go and see her. She could use her friends right now. Would you like to come with me? You don't have to."

Gwen gave him a little smile. "Of course I will," she said. 

*

The door to Morgana's room was slightly ajar, and through the crack Merlin could see her, sitting on her bed, knees hugged to her chest, hair loose down her back, starkly black against her white summer dress. Morgause's bracelet lay on the bed in front of her. When Merlin knocked, she called out to him to come in without looking up.

"Hi," Merlin said, gently. 

She lifted her face; she'd obviously been crying but Merlin was very relieved and encouraged to see that the anger had gone. Not that Morgana wasn't capable of hiding such things, but he'd learned a lot since she deceived them all back at Camelot, and there was no sign. Besides, Merlin reminded himself. She wasn't the same Morgana, not entirely.

Gwen took a step towards her, hesitated, and then crossed the room briskly, to sit on the bed at Morgana's side. "I'm really sorry about what happened today," she said.

"It wasn't your fault," said Morgana. "You tried to warn me about Morgause. She lied to me. Tricked me. I've been such a fool." For a moment the air around Morgana flared hot, dark shadows flickering. 

"I know how much you wanted to get back at your father," said Gwen. "I can't say I blame you, if Morgause offered you that."

The shadows faded, the air cooled.

"Thanks, Gwen." Morgana picked up Gwen's hand and squeezed it. "You're far more than I deserve."

Merlin watched them glance at each other, nervous, tentative. But Gwen wasn't letting Morgana's hand go: instead she held it firmly to her heart, and kissed her knuckles. 

"I want to help," Merlin said. 

Morgana looked up at him. Merlin took all his courage and his hope, and a deep breath.

"Not like last time," he said. "Not just to control your magic. I want to help you use it."

Morgana stared at him for a moment in disbelief, and then a smile appeared on her face: her cheeks dimpled and her eyes lit up with it, and in that second Merlin would have done _anything_ for her. "Really?"

Merlin nodded. "We'll have to be careful. But I have to show you there's other ways to use your power. If you'll let me."

"I can't believe you'd do that. I thought you were going to hand me in!"

"That would be more than a little hypocritical, don't you think?"

"But if you were to get caught-"

"I'm not going to. Gaius will help us; we'll be safe in his lab."

"And you'll show me how to use magic?"

"Yes." Merlin picked up the bracelet. "But the proper way. Not this way. And no more revolutionary magic groups, okay?"

Gwen raised an eyebrow at Morgana. "Revolutionary?"

"I need to change things," Morgana said. "I can't just sit back knowing what people like my father are doing to this world and not even try to stop them."

"Neither can I," said Merlin. "But we need to do this properly, if we're going to try. This isn't just about magic, Morgana. It's about science, and technology, and the way we treat the earth."

"I see Arthur's beginning to rub off on you," said Gwen, all innocence until Merlin blushed scarlet, and then they all collapsed into a fit of giggles. It was far more than the remark had really warranted, but by the time they'd stopped laughing, and Merlin's cheeks weren't quite so hot, something had changed between them. The tension was gone, and Morgana was twining her fingers around Gwen's.

"I think we should start now," Merlin said, gently. "I can't even begin to teach you anything until we've got your magic stabilised. Will you come to Gaius's lab with me?"

"Yes," Morgana said. 

"I want to come too," Gwen said.

Morgana and Merlin exchanged a glance.

"I don't think so," said Merlin. "It might not be safe."

"I don't care," Gwen said. "If I'm going to help, I need to understand. I don't have magic. I can't imagine what it must be like for the two of you, with the things you can do. I need to know. If I'm going to help."

"No, Gwen," said Morgana. "If anything happened to you, I couldn't forgive myself!"

"It won't," Gwen said. "I know it won't. Please, Morgana. I won't wait on the sidelines and make tea. I want to help."

"It's your choice, Morgana," said Merlin. 

Morgana looked down at her hand, wrapped around Gwen's. "All right," she said. "But if I ask for you to leave at any time, you have to go. No arguments. And prepare to be very bored." Morgana frowned, her nose wrinkling. "From the outside it can look like a lot of sitting still."

"But inside…." Gwen said.

"Inside it hurts like fuck," Morgana said. 

"All the more reason to have me there," said Gwen, and squeezed Morgana's hand a little tighter.

*

It was around midnight by the time Merlin knocked on Arthur's door. 

"Come in!" Arthur's voice was, as always, packed with casual confidence. He sounded every bit the King. 

Merlin pushed the door open. Arthur was sitting at his desk in front of an enormous computer screen covered with spreadsheets and graphs.

"Merlin! Where have you been? I was starting to think you'd sloped off to the pub without me! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I've been with your sister."

"Is she all right? I think we've managed to convince the powers that be that she had nothing to do with any of the magical events of the day."

"So Gaius said."

"He was great, actually! He's a good sort, isn't he?"

"The best," said Merlin, with a little smile.

"So." Arthur got up from his desk and pulled Merlin to him. "I suppose I should thank you for saving my life."

"Nah," said Merlin, nestling into Arthur's shoulder. "Just another day for me. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin's waist, and kissed his ear. "I could think of some quite imaginative ways to say thank you."

Arthur's tongue nudged at Merlin's earlobe, and it took all of Merlin's determination to get out any words at all, never mind the ones he had to say.

"Later," he said. "There's somewhere I have to take you first."

*

"Merlin, why have you dragged me out into the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night when we could be at home, fucking like rabbits?"

"Believe it or not, to save the world," Merlin muttered. 

"We're on a hill, in the middle of a country park which, by the way, we broke into using unlicensed magic. What is this, some kind of animal rights demo?"

"I know it's weird. But there's someone I want you to meet, and it can only be here, and now."

"You have some very odd friends, obviously."

"Well," said Merlin, with a little smile. "I suppose I do."

Arthur sighed deeply, and shrugged his shoulders. He was wearing a white tee-shirt that showed off how broad and strong they were, even under the soft glow of the moonlight.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Arthur."

"I thought you already were? You told me about your magic. What other secrets do you have?"

But before Merlin could answer, there was an unmistakable stirring in the air, a dark shape soaring out of the night, and Kilgharrah landed a few feet in front of them.

"I'm a dragon lord," Merlin said.

Arthur stared at Kilgharrah, then at Merlin, backing away.

"It's all right," Merlin said. "He won't hurt you."

"No!" Arthur yelled. "It's not 'all right'! You're a sorcerer, and a dragon lord and now there's a fucking great dragon right in front of me, and they don't fucking exist!"

"Hello, Arthur," said Kilgharrah. He looked as though he were about to laugh.

"And it's fucking talking!" said Arthur.

"Of course it is," said Merlin. "Breathe, Arthur."

"Don't tell me to breathe! I'll not breathe if I fucking well want to!"

"I see he hasn't changed," said Kilgharrah.

"Arthur, calm down," said Merlin. "Please. I need you to listen to me."

Wild-eyed, Arthur nonetheless stood his ground, and said nothing.

"You've met Kilgharrah before," Merlin said. "In fact, you tried to kill him. And he took us to Avalon, when you were dying."

"I know what this is," Arthur said. "It's the knock on the head. You're concussed."

"Arthur, if I was concussed, why would you be seeing a dragon? I need you to think. Somewhere inside, some part of you remembers this. I know you do. You said you had dreams, about Camelot."

"Dreams, Merlin. Just dreams. Everyone has dreams."

"I was in those dreams, wasn't I?"

"No. Well….. Yes," Arthur admitted, reluctantly.

"Before you met me."

"Someone who looked like you, I suppose."

"No!" This wasn't going at all as Merlin had expected: he supposed he hadn't really thought it through very well. His stomach was in knots; the doubt and fear on Arthur's face was more than he could bear. "It was me! We knew each other before, hundreds of years ago." Arthur just stared at him as if he were crazy, and tears started to roll down Merlin's cheeks. "Please, Arthur, remember! I saved your life a million times, and then one time I couldn't, and I had to send you to Avalon and you were supposed to come back and I waited and waited and waited. Arthur, _please_!"

"Young warlock," Kilgharrah said, gently. "Enough. You have suffered more than enough. Be still. Let me take care of Arthur."

The great dragon took a few steps back; his huge eyes gleamed. He filled his lungs with air.

He breathed out fireless dragon breath, sparkling gold. It washed over Arthur as shimmering light. Arthur stood, wide-eyed, awash with magic.

Merlin could pinpoint exactly the moment Arthur remembered. Shock turned to wonder in an instant, and Arthur reached out to him with a single word. 

"Merlin!"

Kilgharrah's magic faded, leaving Arthur staggering, drunk with it. Merlin rushed to him and flung an arm around his shoulders, catching him just as he fell to his knees. 

"Bit of a rush, eh?" Merlin said. 

"You waited," Arthur replied, touching Merlin's cheek. "All this time, you waited."

"Yeah, well. I told you. I'll be your servant 'til the day I die. Turns out that's a bit longer than I expected."

Arthur clutched Merlin to him, breathed him in. "Thank you."

Crying big, fat tears he couldn't stop, Merlin kissed him. Hard and clumsy, so it hurt when their teeth collided and his fingers got caught in Arthur's hair, and when Arthur's tongue came into his mouth, he nipped at it, and although this was Arthur, the same Arthur it had been an hour ago, exactly the same, he tasted like a King, he kissed like a King, like Merlin's King, and there were no words, no feelings big enough for this. 

Unseen by either of them, Kilgharrah spread his wings and launched himself into the air above the hill, where he circled once, then twice, before disappearing into the night sky.

Arthur lay Merlin down on the grass, and Merlin could feel the magic of the earth against his back. It called to them both; it rejoiced in Arthur, and as Arthur pulled off Merlin's clothes the trees, the birds, the whole of Albion was singing. 

"I have to…." Arthur said, scattering kisses down Merlin's throat, across his bare chest. 

"Please," said Merlin.

Arthur's hand skated over Merlin's hip, shoved his jeans down far enough that Merlin could kick them off. Arthur's fingers closed around Merlin's cock, gave it two long, tight pulls that made Merlin arch helplessly up to him. Merlin produced lubricant from nowhere and tossed it to Arthur - in his haste he'd actually created it in a vial that wouldn't have looked out of place on Arthur's bedside table back at Camelot. Arthur caught it, uncorked it with his teeth, and poured it liberally over Merlin's cock and balls, shoving Merlin's legs wide so he could slick his hole. 

Merlin tugged Arthur's head down so he could kiss him, kept kissing while Arthur fucked him with his fingers, everything tight and wet and desperate; sloppy kisses, bodies pressing and grinding, Arthur's cock hard as iron where it rubbed on Merlin's thigh. 

Then Arthur was between his legs, his cock nudging its way inside. Merlin let out a scream of pure pleasure as Arthur filled him, rocking his hips to take him as deep as he possibly could.

The sky cracked, thunder roared, and soft drops of rain spattered Arthur's back and ran along his spine. Merlin laughed, flung his head back to take the rain on his tongue; it came faster and harder, slicking his hair, falling from Arthur's nose. 

Arthur closed his fist around Merlin's cock and pumped, the old familiar rhythm that Merlin was helpless to resist. A few strokes and he was done for, yelling out and spurting helplessly over his own belly, Arthur's chest, even his chin. 

Arthur buried himself deep, deep inside him, and Merlin held him, shuddering pure pleasure in his arms.

*

 

There was something tickling Merlin's nose. He should open his eyes and find out what it was, but, well. That might lead to waking up. 

He wasn't sure he wanted to wake up. Just in case.

Merlin sneezed.

"Bless you, my Lord."

Merlin blinked. It wasn't properly light, but not entirely dark, either. He was cold, goose-pimply, and the earth he lay on was damp. Arthur was spooned behind him, one arm flung over Merlin's waist. He could hear Arthur snoring. 

He was looking straight at a dragon.

"Aithusa?"

"I did not wish to disturb you."

"That's okay. I think it was the really hard ground that disturbed me," said Merlin, wincing as he sat up. Arthur grunted and rolled over onto his back.

"So that is the returned King of Albion," said Aithusa, dubiously.

"Yes," Merlin said. 

"I thought he'd be taller."

"Well, he's lying down." Merlin yawned. "What time is it?"

Aithusa gave him a quizzical look. 

"How long 'til dawn?" Merlin elucidated.

"Not long. I will have to go soon. I wished to see him. Kilgharrah has told me much about him."

"Was any of it nice?"

"Some." Aithusa's eyes blinked in that way Kilgharrah's did when he found something funny but wasn't about to admit it.

"I'm glad you're here," Merlin said. "I need your help."

Aithusa bowed his head. "My Lord."

"Merlin. And this isn't an order. It's a request."

"A request?"

"I want you to help Morgana."

Aithusa reared up, alarmed.

"She's different," Merlin said. "She's not the Morgana we knew. She hasn't lost herself to revenge and fear. There's still hope. She wants to help Arthur. But she needs guidance, she needs all the help and love the old Morgana never had. Can you help her?"

"Morgana was my only friend for many years," Aithusa said. "She will be my friend again."

Merlin threw his arms around the dragon's neck, and hugged him. He couldn't imagine ever doing such a thing to Kilgharrah, but Aithusa made a wonderful little crooning noise, and wriggled happily for a few moments, before gracefully pulling back and regaining his dignity.

"Aren't you going to introduce us, Merlin?"

Arthur was awake, if a little bleary, his hair standing up in tufts. 

Merlin grinned at him. "This is Aithusa."

Aithusa dipped his head. "King Arthur."

"Hi," said Arthur. "Er, Merlin, how many dragons do you have?"

"I don't _have_ any," said Merlin. "It doesn't work like that. But as far as I know, there's only two."

Aithusa nodded in agreement.

"Well, I expect that's plenty," Arthur said. "Hello, Aithusa."

Merlin looked to the horizon: a thin strip of blue was forming between earth and night. "Aithusa, you must go."

"I must. We will meet again."

"Soon," said Merlin.

Merlin watched Aithusa fly off into the distance, shivering in the early morning chill until Arthur wrapped his shirt around his shoulders. 

"It's a bit damp," Arthur said. "Sorry."

"No problem," said Merlin, and with a negligent wave of his hand and a muttered word not only dried their clothes but warmed them. Arthur sat down at his side, chuckling. 

"Guess I won't need a hot water bottle any more," he said.

"Nope," said Merlin, happily.

Arthur nudged Merlin's knee with his.

"It's going to take a while," Arthur said.

"What is?"

"Being me. Well, being _more_ me, I suppose. There's me, the Arthur that grew up in Camelot and was fantastic with a mace and had the most terrible servant in the world - but there's this other me as well. On the one hand, I'm King of Albion. On the other hand I'm a Cambridge undergrad who wants to save the golden lemur."

"I know," said Merlin, nestling in a little closer. "But it gets easier, I promise. And you know what?"

"What?" 

"You're going to save a hell of a lot more than lemurs."

Arthur frowned, perplexed, but Merlin just grinned smugly, until Arthur shrugged, and gave him a little shoulder-shove and an, "I don't know how I put up with you, Merlin."

"Because you still need someone to wash your socks," said Merlin.

"Don't be ridiculous."

They bickered gently as the sun nudged its way above the horizon.

And a new day dawned for Albion.

_~Fin~_


End file.
